Bound to You
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: It is the week of Valentine's Day, the time where love is floating in the air. Unfortunately, Emma finds herself in a much stickier predicament than love. Out of all the people in Storybrooke she had to be handcuffed to during the most romantic time of the year, it had to be Gold. Golden Swan.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time; ABC does. How lucky are they? I also do not own the characters of Emma and Gold—they are wonderfully portrayed by Jennifer Morrison and Robert Carlyle respectively. **_

_**A/N: Here it is—my Valentine's Day Golden Swan fic. For the record, it is loosely based on Valentine's Day and does not take place after my Simple Kiss story. Nonetheless, I hope everyone enjoys reading it and is having a marvelous Valentine's Day. **_

_**Bound to You **_

___You be the prince and I'll be the princess; it's a love story, baby, just say yes…_

The overplayed sappy love songs were starting to grate on Emma's nerves. She tapped her pen rapidly against the checkered tabletop and tried to ignore the overhead music.

A futile effort.

Every time she thought she had blocked it out, her brain would register the tune in the background, the catchy lyrics would bounce around in her skull, and she would be sucked back into the whirlpool of love. That was assuming she ever successfully broke away from the tide in the first place.

Did she really need another reminder that Valentine's Day was right around the corner?

It was supposed to be one romantic day of the year, but ever since the curse broke, love was a much celebrated concept in this town. A holiday dedicated to finding true love? No kidding. It was promoted to Valentine's Week.

Even this crossword in the _Daily Mirror _was based off all things romance! There was no escaping it!

"Actress of romantic flick _Sleepless in Seattle," _she mumbled aloud to herself thoughtfully. She had never been into chick flicks. It was such a waste of Kleenex.

Lines of intense concentration marred her forehead as she struggled to recall the name…It was hovering on the tip of her tongue…

"I believe the answer you're searching for…is Meg Ryan," a terribly familiar Scottish accent buzzed in her ear. She clenched her eyes shut and dropped the pen onto the newspaper. Okay, she'd rather take the sappy love music now.

Leaning back in her booth, she took her time in meeting those calculating brown eyes. There was something intrusive about them that seemed to flay her skin and peer deep into her soul. It rooted her to the spot, commanded her undivided attention at all times.

Gold—or rather, Rumpelstiltskin—lingered at the edge of her table. Unsurprisingly, he was immaculately dressed as always, with that odd fuchsia dress shirt adding color to his charcoal suit. Emma wondered if that was his way of celebrating Valentine's Week. Or did he simply like all things pink?

"Thanks," she reluctantly replied and penned in the answer. "I've never had the misfortune to see it. I take it you have?"

Was Gold a secret lover of chick flicks or something? Or did it come from living in that glorious pink house all by himself? Either he had seen it or he wasn't kidding about being exceptionally good with names.

That tricky smile teased his lips, the end of his cane tapping against the tiles.

"Once. It's a fitting movie for a rainy day."

Emma would take his word for it. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Was_ that_ where he was during that massive storm? Curled up on his couch in warm pajamas with a buttery bowl of popcorn and watching _Sleepless in Seattle? _

She shook the strange image from her mind before she could envision Gold crying into his bowl of popcorn. A few seconds passed until she realized he was still standing there, silently requesting her immediate attention. God only knew he wouldn't leave until he got what he wanted.

The man was as stubborn as a child sometimes.

"Can I help you with something? Did your shop get robbed again?" That seemed to happen a lot these days. Something dark flashed through Gold's sharp eyes and his good mood faltered.

"Why does everyone ask that? One hormonal pregnant woman does it and suddenly it's my reasoning for everything," he exclaimed, his voice rising more than a few notches.

His knuckles tightened over his cane until they turned bone-white. He stared obstinately at the tiles for a fleeting moment. Then he smoothed a hand through his dusty brown hair and seemingly jumped right back to his walking-on-air attitude.

"May I sit down?"

Emma opened her mouth to ever-so-politely decline, maybe stretch her legs onto the opposite seat. But he was already gliding down to sit across from her. This was the guy who left her stranded in an elevator, among other things. She didn't exactly fancy treating herself to heart-shaped cookies with him. Not even if they had pink sprinkles.

Immediately, Red rushed over with a steaming cup of coffee and placed it squarely in front of Gold.

"Thank you, dearie," he addressed their waitress flatly. It was more of a dismissal than a show of manners.

From the pocket of her apron, Red pulled out a handful of Sweethearts. At first Emma thought she intended to offer the little candy hearts to Gold. That would have been a sight in itself. Instead, she held one up so that he could read the message: a smiley face.

Then she flitted away. _Curiouser and curiouser…_

An amused chuckle came from Gold's side of the table. Emma was still stuck on what the hell all that was about.

"Our dear werewolf has made a sticky bet with Snow's favorite dwarf," he remarked. "She must refrain from speaking until after Valentine's Day. All she can use are those candy hearts to get her message across. I pity the person who asks for the bathroom."

Emma stared incredulously at Gold and then across the diner to Red, who was currently waving a pink heart in Whale's face. With that girl's thirst for gossip, she was bound to cave. Emma was placing her bets on Grumpy.

"The way this town behaves around Valentine's Day, they should rename it the Kissing Town," she muttered. Gold's presence made it too difficult to focus on the crossword, so she shoved it aside. He casually sipped his coffee, his attention never straying from her face. "Again, may I help you? Or do you seriously enjoy my company?"

"I really enjoy your company…_Emma,"_ he drawled. The way he spoke her name always mystified her—it was like he never tired of having it roll pleasurably off his tongue. "Do you remember that favor you owe me?"

Oh, no. Every nerve in her body halted with dread. He wasn't calling it in, was he? It couldn't be a coincidence that it was so close to Valentine's Day. It took about a minute to swallow the lump in her throat.

"No, which one?" His expression darkened. He didn't like the implication of Emma forgetting their deal even slightly. She sighed. "How could I possibly forget, Gold? You remind me every chance you get," she retorted. He smirked over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Exactly," he whispered loud enough for her ears to catch. Her muscles tensed up and her mind clouded over with confusion. Was this some kind of trick?

"What?" He lightly set the coffee cup down and rested his arms on the tabletop. His body loomed forward with the ease of a rattlesnake until their faces were barely a few inches apart. She could literally feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

"You obviously expected a better reason for my presence. I just gave you one—the reminder of our agreement. Now, I'm simply enjoying your company, as I said."

He took up his cup, raised it in a mocking toast, and sipped it eagerly. The steam tickled her nose and she pulled back. Anxiously, she weaved her fingers through her blonde hair if only to give her hands something to do besides clenching.

"So…all you wanted to do was give me yet another reminder that I owe you a favor?" The glee dancing wildly in his brown eyes was answer enough. "Smug bastard."

Gold disregarded the rash name-calling and chose to roll his shoulders loosely in a shrug: _what can I say? _His teeth peeked out from beneath his curved lips. Smug was an understatement.

"Admit it, Emma. You enjoy my company, too. Perhaps _I_ am the one doing _you_ the favor." And he winked.

Emma prepared a list of snide remarks, but none of them escaped her lips. In truth, she didn't _not _like his company. She'd be lying if she claimed Gold wasn't one of Storybrooke's most intriguing residents. The man was a mystery to be uncovered. Every time she tried to unravel him, though, another layer replaced the one that was shed.

Luckily, the chime of the bell and the pattern of excited footsteps saved her from having to admit that out loud.

"Emma, there you are," Henry gasped as he skidded to a stop in front of their table.

There weren't many places in Storybrooke she could hide from the kid. Her hang-outs mostly consisted of Mary Margaret's apartment, the station, and the diner. Henry was almost bursting at the seams with enthusiasm…and then he noticed Gold.

Was that the screech of a record Emma heard?

"Oh…hi, Mr. Gold. Or, Rumpelstiltskin. Which one do you prefer?"

A genuine smile rose to Gold's lips. Emma had never seen the pawnbroker so at ease as when he was around Henry. Astonishingly, she could picture him as the kind of guy that adored kids. He was always so patient with Henry and never minded his unsatisfied curiosity. It was sort of…nice.

"Either one suits me well, Henry," he answered humbly. The kid must have deemed Gold safe, for he instantly whirled back on Emma. Any minute now, she expected the kid to float away like a balloon.

"I've been looking for you," he said. As if that wasn't obvious from the way he nearly barreled over Mother Superior. "You know how Grandma got me a magician's set last Christmas? Well, I've been practicing. Want me to show you a few tricks?"

Her son gazed hopefully at her, his hands joined in a pleading fist. Emma's mouth split open, with only awkward silence emitting from it. Once upon a time, she might have been able to handle a few pointless magic tricks—making a Styrofoam cup float in the air or Henry "cutting off" his thumb. The breaking of the curse had left her shaky about magic in all cases.

"I don't know, kid…" She winced in anticipation of his disappointment, but the kid merely spun toward Gold with the puppy-eyes on full blast. _Sure, go cut his thumb off, why don't you, _Emma thought as she watched Gold's face become agreeable.

"Are you going to pull a quarter out of my ear, Henry?"

The man was practically showering in money, anyway. A quarter from his ear should be no big deal. Henry waved his hand in circles and then reached behind Gold's ear. Between his fingers appeared a shiny quarter.

"Ta-da," Henry exclaimed, holding the quarter out so both of them could see it. Emma even took it from his hand to make sure it was a genuine quarter. "That was beginner's stuff. I want to try a bigger magic trick…but I have to use both of you to do it."

Henry slyly glanced up at Emma from underneath his eyelashes, waiting for her confirmation. Under the table, Gold prodded her leg with his foot. She sent him a cross look and stomped down on his foot, causing him to growl in pain. Despite her irritability, her resolve was chipping the more she studied Henry with careful consideration.

What was the harm, really? It would be one lousy magic trick and it would make Henry happy. Oh, the price of being a newfound mother.

"Work your magic, Henry the Magnificent," she relented. Henry beamed, his irises glowing with joy. She would give anything to keep that smile on his face.

"Henry the Magnificent…I like it. You know, I could always use an assistant." The way Emma's jaw fixed shot that horse dead. There was no way she was standing on some street corner and shouting ridiculous phrases like 'Presto Change-o!' "Or not. Okay, both of you hold your hands over the table."

Emma had a very bad feeling about this, but she copied Gold anyway and stretched her arms over the table. Her hands accidentally brushed Gold's and the corners of his lips twitched in a smile. _Please don't cut our hands off, please don't cut our hands off…_

Henry searched around their table for something before he leaned over and grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser. Opening one, he draped the thin paper over their hands, shielding them from view. Emma's stomach was in knots.

"Now all I have to do is say the magic word—_Henry-kazam!_ And…." Emma spotted Henry's hand scrambling under the napkin. She felt something cold encircle her wrist, startling her into numbness. What the hell was on her hand?

Gold must have felt it, too, since his expression was as confused as she felt inside. Henry whipped off the napkin in one quick flourish to reveal his work. _Oh…my…God…_

There was a bracelet on Emma's wrist. Except this bracelet was shiny and had a chain attached to it. Her eyes followed its path, straight to where it linked with a matching bracelet on Gold's wrist. Panic overwhelmed her mind, blaring like a red alarm.

She was handcuffed to Gold. _Handcuffed _to _Gold!_

"Henry, what did you do?" Her brain fizzled as she tried to process the unsettling predicament she'd fallen into. Her fingers clawed at the metal bracelet, but it was secured. There was no getting rid of it. "Trick's over, kid. Where's the key?"

Henry seemed equally as amazed, his eyes boggling with wonder. It did not soothe Emma's anxiety in the least. If anything, her heart pounded harder against the skin of her chest and a cold sweat broke out over her forehead. She should have stuck with the crossword.

"Wow. It's never worked before," he murmured almost to himself. Emma's eyebrows sky-rocketed. The nerves in her body were as icy as the sensation of the cuff rubbing her skin.

"What do you mean, 'it's never worked'?" Henry snapped back to life with the frigid tone of her voice. He shrugged.

Gold was clearly in shock; only his fingers moved as they experimentally traced the chain. Then his hand wove over the bracelet back and forth. She was about to ask him what _he _was doing when it hit her—he was attempting to use magic to escape. And it wasn't working.

"It's never worked," Henry repeated. He touched a finger to the chain as if it might not be real. "I tried using these on Grumpy and Gramps, but it didn't work. Then I tried it with Mary Margaret and the Queen. Every time the handcuffs just fell off," he explained.

Newly inspired, Emma wrenched her arm back to tug the handcuffs. Gold's stomach lurched into the table, his breath whooshing from his mouth. She wiggled her arm in the air again. The chain rattled, but the handcuffs didn't clatter to the table.

This could not be happening. Not on Valentine's Week!

"Henry…" Gold straightened in his seat and dreamily lilted. He clasped his free hand around the cuff that trapped his wrist. A spark of realization flowered in his eyes, directing Emma's curiosity to something other than trying to force her hand out of the cuff. "Are these the same handcuffs….from my shop?"

Emma's gaze flickered to Henry. Guilt transpired across his little face, his shoe bashfully scuffling over the tiled floor.

"I thought you might have been there. I saw the handcuffs on the wall and thought I would try that trick. I was going to return them afterwards," he blurted out in apology. Gold's body stiffened visibly, instigating even more worry in Emma's mind.

The blank mask pieced together and Gold reverted to the in-control, hard-to-read dealmaker once more. He waved the admission off with a slide of his free hand. Emma sensed the disarray churning underneath, though. There was something Gold wasn't saying.

"Never mind it, Henry. Perhaps the key is somewhere in my shop."

With that note of finality, he quickly slid out of the booth. Emma had no choice but to do the same unless she wanted to be pulled out onto the diner's floor in front of everyone. They kept their conjoined hands between them so that no one would be able to see the cuffs.

As they made their way toward the front entrance, with the weight of Henry's stare following after them, Gold dipped his head down by Emma's ear. Her scowl increased. Now was not a good time for his witty remarks.

"Be thankful he didn't saw us in half."

Just as Emma reached the door, she felt a new pair of eyes drilling holes in her back. She turned her head to meet Red's sultry eyes, gleaming with curiosity upon noticing Emma leave with Gold. She fumbled in her apron and held up a yellow heart. _Text me. _

A stubborn headache started up right behind Emma's eyes.

_I hate Valentine's Week. _

…

The first burden about being handcuffed to Gold that Emma knew she would not forget easily was this: wherever Gold went, she inevitably followed. It was beyond frustrating.

Once outside the diner, Gold seemed to take it upon himself to call the shots and instantly turned right. Emma fumed through the nose. _What if I wanted to turn left? This should be a joint decision! _Of course, she could always kick his cane out from under him and then drag him down the street of her choosing.

With Emma in tow, he began to head in the direction of his shop. No matter how Emma tugged or struggled, the cuffs refused to loosen. If anything, their restriction seemed to increase.

And so she found her feet begrudgingly matching his strides. It was the most logical thing to do; cooperating until they found a way out of this mess. If they got all the way to his shop and he broke the news to her that he misplaced the key, she'd find a new use for that cane. It wouldn't be pleasant.

She supposed this could be worse. He could have insisted on driving, in which case she would likely tumble into his lap whenever he took a sharp turn.

"So, what exactly _weren't_ you saying in there?" Gold shifted his head to study her cautiously. The walls shot up to the sky, barricading her outside. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it safely locked inside the barriers of his mind. A place that was so heavily protected, she could never reach it.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. These handcuffs are as much a conundrum to me as they appear to be for you," he replied in his guarded, soft-spoken manner. Somehow, Emma seriously doubted he was suffering at the magnitude that she was.

"Yeah, right. Being handcuffed to the savior is a real nightmare for you," she sarcastically scoffed. He yanked his arm up and effectively dragged her forward. It was his way of telling her to drop the subject. "You know something else about these handcuffs. Why would it be important that they came from your shop?"

Unless he was planning on having Henry arrested for "borrowing." Then again, this was the man who pocketed penny candy in Mr. Clark's store. Being a has-been thief, she knew every trick in the book. She wouldn't recommend the pregnancy scam for Gold, though.

His forehead creased with lines of anxiety and frustration. She knew she hit the bulls-eye in terms of his ambiguity. There was something he refused to share with her. For some reason, he was keeping her in the dark. Did he not trust her?

"Emma, I don't think now is the best time—"

She dared to dig her heels into the ground, forcing him to stop in his tracks lest he rip her fingertips from the frame of the dress shop's window. Irritated, he turned full-circle and glowered at her. She mirrored his annoyance. If anyone should be upset, it should be her.

"Really? Because I think now is the perfect time. It is the week of Valentine's Day, I am living among fairy tale characters, there's nothing but mushy love songs on the radio, and—in case you haven't noticed—I am _handcuffed_ to _Rumpelstiltskin!_ And I refuse to move another inch until you tell me what is going on in that head of yours. You'll just have to drag me."

From the way his eyelids narrowed in challenge, he was considering doing just that any second. The reminder of his sore leg must have changed his mind, for he gestured to the alleyway next to Modern Fashions. That was as far as she was going.

His eyes scanned the area back and forth, as though he were afraid someone might be eavesdropping. His tongue darted out to carefully trace his upper lip. Emma spread her free hand by her side, silently urging him onward. _Well? _

"Every item in my shop is extraordinary. These handcuffs are no exception. Were you aware that your father had a twin brother?" The furrow of her brow explained her obliviousness. "These handcuffs originally belonged to him and his true love, Jack."

"Jack? As in…_Jack and the Beanstalk?_ Fe, fi, fo, fum and the like?"

He held up a hand to calm any assumptions she might be making. For one thing, if Jack was real, then where the hell was the giant? She figured a towering human would be hard to miss. Or was he…tiny?

"One and the same. It's short for Jacqueline," he informed her. Emma's eyebrows nearly stretched up into her hairline. Where was Henry when she needed him to explain these fairy-tale touch-ups? Oh, yes—in the diner performing magic tricks. How could she forget?

"Wait…you're telling me that Jack…is a girl?"

"Woman," he corrected. Same difference. "And you'd be wise to use past tense. She died. Anyhow, these handcuffs are not your average, run-of-the-mill handcuffs. They have been enchanted for the sole purpose of pleasure."

Was he trying to come up with a solution? Or sell them to her?

"Yeah…so is every pair of handcuffs in adult romance books," she retorted dryly. He offered her a warning look that demanded silence while he finished. Emma gestured for him to continue, their hands moving as one.

"I have never been interested in using them myself. As far as I know, there are only three possible ways to escape these handcuffs once two people have been locked together." He began to tick the items off on his fingers. "One, you cut your hand off. Grisly, I know. Two, death. And then there is the third option. I'm afraid you're not going to be pleased with it."

Emma tried to cross her arms, but too soon realized it reeled Gold against her body. Angrily, she waved her trapped arm in the air, Gold's arm helpless to stay still along with it. If anyone saw them from a distance, it would look like they were fist-pumping together.

"Don't spare my feelings. Out with it already," she screeched.

She was dreading the consequences if she and Gold did not remove the handcuffs by nightfall. Was there a door that did not lead to violent measures? Or was she really going to have to make use of her father's sword?

The possible future abruptly flashed inside her mind. How would they eat? How would they shower? Oh, God…where would they _sleep?_ Not…_together?_ _Can't breathe…can't breathe….I might be having a heart attack at twenty-eight!_

Gold exhaled deeply, resigned to revealing the last shred of detail he was holding terribly close to his chest. She wasn't all too certain whether she wanted to hear it. Emma could not have braced herself enough for the third and final option.

"The two people who are joined together by the handcuffs must…engage in certain…intimate affairs in order to ensure the removal of the handcuffs. The ultimate pleasure, if you will."

Emma stared hard at him for several minutes, unblinking. She prayed her mind had translated that gibberish wrong. There was no way it could mean…it couldn't possibly…

She gulped nervously.

"What you're basically describing is…we would have to…" Gold followed her train of thought and solemnly inclined his head in acknowledgement. A stone—no, a boulder—plunged into Emma's stomach, sizzling hot as a fiery coal.

"Yes, Emma," he confirmed her growing fears. It only took two words to officially make her weak at the knees. . "Making love."

….

_**A bit straightforward, I know. The fun is all in the journey, right? Either way, I think I could have serious fun with this and I hope everyone reading this does, too. With that in mind, I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day! *hands out pink-sprinkled heart-shaped cookies* **_

_**The lyrics, of course, come from Taylor Swift's Love Story. **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Wow, the response for this story was absolutely amazing! Thank you so much, everyone, that reviewed, favorite, and alerted this story. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter just as much as the last one. **_

Emma was frozen. Transfixed. Motionless as a statue in her vastly growing disbelief.

A deer caught in headlights would show more signs of life than she did at that moment; like breathing, for example. Hell, by now the deer would have either bolted out of the way or ended up mangled road-kill. Bambi's mother had a better chance at escaping her cruel fate than she did.

All she could do was stare at Gold, waiting for the punch-line that would never come. Dread made her heart pump twice as hard, the blood now thick, slow-moving sludge in her veins. His last two words haunted her mind nonstop, a faulty record skipping in its player.

_Making love…making love…_Dear God, someone should hit the off switch before she completely lost it. Had she lost it? How could you tell if you lost it? How did you ever find it again?

_It was supposed to be any other normal day. Who am I kidding, there is no normal day in this town anymore, but it was supposed to be normal by my standards! I wanted to eat lunch, I wanted to spend time with Henry, I wanted to be awkward around my parents, and I wanted to patrol the town in my crappy cruiser and fix everyone's happiness. Where in that To-Do list does it say: get handcuffed to Gold? Nowhere, that's where! _

Her brain was sloppy as stale Jell-O in the hospital's cafeteria. She couldn't process it. One word flashed repeatedly in her mind: _error, error. _

An invisible wind tickled the nape of her neck, chilling as the fingers of Death. Or was it Cupid? Someone ought to shoot her with a love arrow for all the acceptance she could muster. Or lack, thereof.

Yes, she respected Gold. Yes, she had a deal hanging over her head. Yes, she could relate to him better than most people in this town. But to consider actually…engaging in….

_Making love…_

She wasn't yet ready for that kind of commitment with a man, much less one like Gold. Once more, she rehashed his explanation silently. Above all, words meant everything to Gold. Making love was a whole different set of criteria than the rough spur-of-the-moment ideals of having sex. It was more demanding, required a greater level of emotional investment that Emma wasn't sure she was ready to pay.

Inevitably, her eyeballs rolled downward in their sockets. Down _there. _

"There has to be another way," she was vaguely aware of mumbling.

Her voice was stricken with underlying panic, but she couldn't recall commanding her brain to say the words. The cords tying down her soul were cut loose; she had this weird out-of-body sensation going on. It was like she was watching two actors play out a scene on a television show.

This could not be happening to her. That kid was grounded until _his _twenty-eighth birthday.

Gold was shaking his head pitifully, the strands of his dusty brown hair brushing along his cheek. Why was he shaking his head like that? Why must he be so negative, so limited to the way things worked? _Be more like Mary Margaret, why don't you? _

"Emma, I understand your difficulty in absorbing this dire situation," he began calmly, leveling a stony gaze her way. Why was he so calm? It unnerved her all the more. She seriously doubted that claim, too. The guy wasn't even breaking a sweat! She was perspiring. "The sooner you come to terms with the fact that there are, and will only be, three options, the sooner we can go about escaping these chains."

Her eyelids narrowed a fraction of an inch in warning. He better not be implying what she suspected he was implying.

"There has to be another way," she repeated sternly, no room for argument.

Something—maybe it was the desperate plea—had slipped its way past Gold's stronghold. His face visibly softened, creasing with anguish as he registered how badly she was trembling. She was but a child battling a fierce monster whose attacks she was hopeless to predict.

"Emma…" He extended a gloved hand to her shoulder.

The alarms blared inside her head, flashing crimson red with overwhelming urgency. Her feet scurried backwards only to have her back hit the cold brick wall of the building. Gold's body collapsed forward from her retreat, his hips brushing against hers. From her hip, she drew her gun out of its holster and pointed it directly at Gold's temple.

"Stay away from me," she roared, raw and distressed.

Gold humored her by holding up his hands in surrender, though her cuffed hand copied his movements. He could have easily slapped his cane to her wrist to make her drop the gun, but he didn't. Maybe he assumed that causing her bodily injury would fail to win her over.

Emma's breathing quickened as her lack of control got the best of her. It burned the inside of her throat, tunneling up and out before she could grasp her common sense.

"Is this why you chose to talk this out in an alleyway? Because you already knew what those handcuffs meant! What were you planning to do? Spell it out for me and then….use me to your advantage? That's the only way so we might as well do it? Were you going to do it and just walk away? The sickening part is you'll walk away looking perfect as ever—not a detail out of place, no one ever has to know as you stride to your little pawnshop," she growled almost incoherently.

She couldn't help the nonsense spewing from her lips. She was incapable of wrapping her mind around it. She was afraid. Afraid that she would not regret tumbling off that cliff into Gold's arms? Maybe.

"The sickening part?" He mimicked her words, thrust them back just as bitterly. He snarled, his mouth agape in blunt astonishment. "No, dearie. The sickening part is how you've convinced yourself that I respect you as much as a common whore. You honestly believe I would take you forcefully and dispose of you in an alley? What kind of man do you take me for? Why would I do that?"

The hand gripping the gun started to shake. In some part of her mind, she knew she had no intention of pulling the trigger. Maybe Gold knew it, too. This was simply her initial reaction to facing a situation that was out of her hands almost entirely. It was better for it to come out now than to fester inside.

"Using me…it was what my last boyfriend did. It was the last time I trusted anyone but myself. If someone like him was capable of abandoning me after getting everything he wanted…so are you. You have the opportunity. It's sitting right on your wrist."

He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"You're right, I do. I have the opportunity. Doesn't mean I'm going to act upon it. Emma…lower your weapon. I'm not going to hurt you," he reasoned.

Her defenses were still active; she kept the gun trained on him. He dared to drop his hands to his sides.

"You have my word that I will not attempt to violate you in any such dishonorable manners. Not without your express permission. I'm not going to force it on you. If it makes you feel any better—and encourages you to stop aiming a gun at me—I'll keep my distance. As much as the chain will allow, anyway."

Gold never broke his word; Emma knew that for a fact. She picked apart his vow piece by piece in search of a loophole, but she could not find any. Nor was he lying. Logic seeped back into her brain and she realized how unstable she must look, holding the gun to his head.

"Come on, sweetheart," he whispered encouragingly as she began to lower the gun to her side. Ever so carefully, his gloved hand covered hers and he coaxed the gun from her grasp. Her breath came in heavy pants as she tried to regain her sense of control.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She avoided his gaze, staring off instead to the mouth of the alley. It was a miracle no one had passed by during their dispute. Heat burned through her cheeks, too intense for him not to notice. "It's just overwhelming and crazy and—"

She became distracted as Gold loomed forward enough to tuck the gun onto her hip again. She could have sworn his hand lingered there longer than it should. When she glanced up, he was merely a breath away. There went the butterflies in her stomach.

"It's a bit out of your comfort zone, isn't it?" That was the understatement of the year. She was so far away from her comfort zone; she couldn't even see the line where that zone began. She had been tossed into open air and she was free-falling fast. "Tell you what…why don't we continue on to my shop? Perhaps we'll find another way."

Emma was sure he was just saying that to console her. But she found herself nodding in agreement anyway.

"Walk with me," he requested, gesturing to the mouth of the alley. The two of them matched strides with the chain rattling between them, a metallic melody.

"Like I have a choice," she muttered, shaking the chain for added emphasis. Gold chuckled beside her.

He was certainly in a good mood today. But then again, being handcuffed to an attractive woman was practically every guy's dream. Just because he didn't show any outward signs of attraction to the other women in Storybrooke didn't mean the guy didn't have needs. He must, right?

"Everyone has a choice," he disagreed. Emma had an odd feeling that he was on the verge of speaking fortune cookie again. "Or it could very well be fate working its magic."

Figured he believed in that stuff. She wanted to have a long talk with whichever higher power decided this fate. And by talk, she meant stuff deeply in a closet.

…..

"There's no other way. I have nothing," Gold sighed as he bumped the last drawer closed with his knee. For the past thirty minutes, the two of them searched the front half of his shop. There wasn't even a key. Emma stared crossly at him.

"You are Rumpelstiltskin, the most powerful man in the Enchanted Forest. You're supposed to be able to do anything. So find us a way out," she demanded. Gold leaned his hip against the counter and rubbed his bad leg. It ached something fierce from all the excitement.

"I appreciate the lovely compliments, Emma…." Her stomach dropped.

"But…?"

"But contrary to popular belief, I can't do everything," he replied with an eccentric flourish of his arms. Snow wasn't kidding when she was foolishly imitating Rumpelstiltskin last night. He really did do that. Did that mean that the silly impish giggle she had been making was just as true for the stoic dealmaker?

Gold's forehead creased with the unfurling of a new thought. His head shifted toward an ancient black box sitting on the counter. He held up a finger to request her patience.

"Or perhaps….I have one more thing."

Guiding the box across the counter, he flipped the lid off. Emma peered over the rim. Inside was an assortment of vials. Magic. Or was he planning to pour oil on their skin in hopes of sliding the cuffs off? He took them out one by one, his fingers wiggling over them in anticipation. He held a couple of the vials up to the light, occasionally shaking the liquid inside.

"A-ha. This will do," he finally murmured, choosing a vial with a clear liquid sloshing inside. Emma tried to snatch it up, but he stretched it out of her reach. She would have to press close to him in order to grab it. "A-ta-ta-ta! This potion is very dangerous."

She eyed it skeptically.

"It looks like water," she protested. If it really was dangerous, he should have put a skull and crossbones on the side.

Once he figured out she wasn't about to grab it away, he carefully uncapped the vial. He instructed her fist to rest on the counter, the chain strung tight between them.

"Here goes nothing." He upended the contents of the vial over the chain. The minute the liquid coated it, there was a startling sizzle. It reminded her of steak being grilled in the diner. Emma glanced up at him in alarm. What did he just pour on it? Acid?

Gold set the empty vial aside and watched the damp chain gravely. Emma did the same, though she did not know what the wait was for. A couple of drops leaked onto the glass of the counter. A terrible screech pierced Emma's ears as the glass began to crack, splintering in a web-like pattern.

The glass cracked….but the handcuffs remained intact.

"Pull," Gold ordered. Setting their feet apart from each other, they tugged in opposite directions until the two of them were equally red in the face. It was an impossible game of tug-of-war, except neither side was winning. The chains refused to show any signs of wear.

Huffing, all they could do was relent.

"That stuff can crack glass, but it doesn't put a single dent in these cuffs?" Emma shook her head in exasperation. She knew the answer for it already: magic. She was done with participating in magic tricks; she would handle this her way. "Alright, it's my turn."

She dragged Gold around his shop while she searched for a solution they might have missed the first time. Canoe? No. Bike? No. Mickey telephone? Well…no. Her eyes landed on the shield hanging on the wall beside the door. Bingo.

"Emma….what exactly are you…" Gold's voiced concerns trailed off once she unsheathed a sword from behind the shield. It was one of three, actually. She experimentally swung it, becoming familiar with its feel. "Let's not do anything reckless, dearie." Emma rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill myself nor am I going to cut off your hand," she lessened his fears. Still, he put up a fight when she tried to place their hands back on the counter. The guy was stronger than he looked, urging her away. He used some strange sizzling acid and now he was complaining because of a sword?

"In other words, you're going to kill _me _and cut off _your _hand? Is that meant to be a crime of passion?" Emma ignored his clever quips and wrenched him forward by the handcuffs, causing him to stumble into the counter. His eyes flashed with indignation. "Will you stop doing that?"

"I'd stop doing it if you started cooperating," she retorted childishly. The blade of the sword slapped against the chain, marking the spot where Emma was aiming to hit. She lifted it up to her shoulder, her muscles tensing for the attack. _One, two…._

"Here's to hoping you have good aim," Gold toasted and shot back a tumbler of whiskey he just made materialize on the counter. Show-off. Emma winced from the disruption, nearly dropping the sword. A second more and she would have struck in all the wrong places.

"It would help if you _stop talking_. And drinking," she scowled. The green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head. Why did he deserve a drink?

When the tumbler was empty, he waved his hand and more liquid instantly pooled inside. He tossed that one back, too. Afterwards, he wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief from his suit and smirked.

"I merely figured I should start numbing my body. That way, when you miss, I might not feel it as much." Big baby. She wasn't going to miss. Hopefully.

A trickle of sweat beaded on her brow. Once more, she touched the blade to the chain. She glanced over at Gold in case he was planning another intrusion, but he was gazing into the bottom of his glass. A deep breath through the nose to relax her muscles, in, out. _One, two…three. _

Emma brought the sword forcefully down on the chain. It was the only good hit she got in. The blade struck the chain and ricocheted off it. Emma's arm whipped back from the impact, the sword flying out of her hand. It embedded itself to the hilt in the wall.

Gold shared his focus between the unmarred handcuffs and the sword in his wall, the handle still quivering from the impact.

"How fascinating," he breathed in awe. Emma was wide-eyed with lack of understanding. It was like the chain had rejected the sword completely. "Care to try one of the other two? Perhaps your hand was sweaty."

Emma rubbed her palms on her jeans and retrieved one of the other swords from the shield. That sword in the wall wasn't going anywhere. She tried it again with Gold conjuring a third drink purely for pleasure. And again, the sword rebutted from the chain. Except this time it crashed into the display case and shattered the glass.

Gold mocked her with a cluck of his tongue: _tsk-tsk-tsk. _

"You'll have to pay for that, dearie." _Put it on my bill, _she scornfully remarked inside her mind. Her hand reached for the last sword, earning a mournful sigh from her jail-mate. "Third time's the charm."

This had to work. There was no way around it. This _would_ work. Emma tentatively licked her lips and mustered up all the strength she had in her body. She raised the sword above her head….brought it down…

At the last second, the bell hanging over the front door chimed.

"Hello, Mr. Go—" It was the only thing Archie had time to say before a sword flung straight at his face. Shrieking, he ducked but the blade snagged on his umbrella. The sword pinned it and therefore Archie to the doorframe. He gasped in shock, tugging on his umbrella until a hole ripped in the black material. "Is this because I didn't read the Closed sign? I only wanted to pay my rent!"

Both Emma and Gold turned to observe the poor man huddled on the floor. She bit her lip regretfully. Okay, that proved it—no more swords. Archie could have been beheaded!

Then his intellectual eyes widened behind his glasses. He was staring fixedly at something. She followed his gaze to realize the handcuffs were in plain sight on the counter. Whoops.

"Oh, dearie, dearie, dear," Gold mumbled under his breath.

It was one of those times Emma wondered what this man was truly like as Rumpelstiltskin in the Enchanted Forest. No one else could spout such fanciful nonsense and get away with it. Maybe those stories Snow told weren't fiction, after all.

"You two…handcuffed yourselves together….for Valentine's Week?" Archie gaped openly at the handcuffs. As if he'd never seen a pair before. His forehead lined with undue wonder. "I never knew you two harbored such devotion for each other. It's rather sweet. Maybe it's—"

"Do _not _say _true love," _Emma intercepted sharply. Archie nestled his torn umbrella close to his chest. He probably thought another sword would fly at him for almost making that comment. "And for the record, my kid did this."

She waved her cuffed hand in the air. Stupid handcuffs. Stupid magic set. Why hadn't she convinced Snow not to buy it? Ugh, the shaking was no use. The pitiful contraption was rapidly becoming the bane of her existence.

"Maybe I'll come back another time," Archie mused before turning tail out the door. A dust cloud practically swirled behind his heels. That guy better not tell her parents about this. She really did not want to pick up the phone, listen to Snow and Charming rant about her life choices, and crinkle a bag of potato chips while pretending they were breaking up.

"Thanks to you, I probably won't see that money until next week," Gold complained.

Emma was much too concerned with her overwhelming anxiety to listen. She hadn't noticed it before, but the shadows in the shop had grown taller and darker, stretching languorously across the floorboards and walls. The sky outside was tinted a shady purple that reminded her of the cloud that had consumed them after she broke the curse.

Night was falling.

"Gold…what are we going to do when it's time to go home? And sleep? You know…in a bed?" Gold smirked brilliantly. His teeth flashed for an instant underneath his lips. Judging from his arrogance and smugness, he'd been waiting for her to stumble on to that problem.

Unfortunately, there was only one solution.

"Your place or mine?"

….

_**On that note, the next chapter should be interesting to write. Emma and Gold will begin to dissect all the problems they have to face by being handcuffed together. I'm sure you guys will like it. **_

_**For now, I'd like to personally thank everyone for their awesome reviews! Sweethearts, anyone? **_

_**SakuraBlossom58: I'm glad you like it so much. The idea was too tantalizing not to write. Perfect for Valentine's Day, huh? Don't worry, there will be tons more for you to enjoy. **_

_**666Neme666: Yeah, I doubt this was on Emma's To-Do list when she woke up that morning. (-; But I really do like writing Emma out of her comfort zone and seeing how she handles it. I think she'd rather take the dragon right about now. **_

_**BundyShoes: Yes, I am so writing this idea out! How could I resist it? Thanks, dearie, for the reviews! **_

_**ValueMyHeart: No worries—I have some good stuff planned for this story. Thanks for reading!**_

_**Guest: Oh, yes, I'm sure Emma has the cruelest fate in all of Storybrooke. Such a terrible burden, being locked up with Gold. *sarcasm overload* I think there's a chance this Valentine's Week will make the headlines! (-; **_

_**DragonRose4: Oh, definitely. This is something both Emma and Gold will have to strive for. Should be interesting to see it play out. Thanks for the review, dear!**_

_**Huntress4455: Yeah, I wanted to use a nice song for the beginning of this story and that one popped into my head! Henry meant well, but maybe he has to practice a little more with the magic kit. Oh, I love cooking up comedy. This one should be good. **_

_**JayJ1: I must say, I liked your review so much! Thanks for reading and I'm certainly glad you got around to writing a review! All your kind words are amazing to read! *blushing* It makes me so happy to hear I've impressed someone with my stories. So thank you very much! (-; **_

_**la-stella-immortale: Thanks for the compliment, dearie! Henry can be so mischievous when you least expect it. Poor kid will probably feel terrible for doing that magic trick…if he doesn't die laughing at the dinner table first! Oh, yes, there shall be dinner. **_

_**AngelofDarkness1605: Thanks for reading and glad you liked the chapter!**_

_**discotimelord: I am actually torn between being sympathetic for Emma's anxiety and cheering on Gold since obviously this must be one of the more intriguing days of his Storybrooke life. There'll be more Red, too. There's only so much you can say with candy hearts, so it'll be a challenge for her. Do you think she'll win?**_

_**FortunesFavour: Ah, I was wondering if someone would catch the 10**__**th**__** Kingdom reference. I just re-watched that series not too long ago and since this was a Valentine's Day story, I felt like I should throw that reference in. If only little pink hearts would swirl around Gold and Emma when they kiss. **_

_**nuckythompson: Oh, there will be plenty more, I assure you. I'm going to have a lot of fun with this. And I hope you have a lot of fun reading it!**_

_**Cqat the Epic: Haha, I love your enthusiasm. Hopefully I won't disappoint you! Yesyesyes…moremoremore…**_

_**Cat4444: That's what happens when he stocks his entire shop with weird items. It leaves hardly any room for the dangerous stuff. (-; As for your sneaking suspicion, you are correct! The cuffs only work in certain instances. Guess they should be lucky, then. Their troubles have only begun…**_

_**DaesGatling: Ha, I see what you did there! Leave it to Henry to find something as tricky as those handcuffs. At least he didn't try sawing them in half. Not sure how Rumpel would feel being separated from the lower half of his body…so that's what Charming feels like!**_

_**tempestquill: Oh, yes—Henry is so grounded. And it would be fascinating if Gold owed Henry a favor for pairing him up with Emma. Imagine what Henry would ask for. The possibilities would be endless. Thanks for reading!**_

_**Dracomom: I'm sure she's panicking now. Glad to know I've made your imagination run. There's nothing wrong with that. (-; **_

_**Tentacion Prohibida: Hope I didn't leave you waiting too long! And I hope you enjoyed reading it. **_

_**SwanQueen4055: Thanks for the review! **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Once again, I appreciate the wonderful response this story has gotten so far. I think you guys will really enjoy this chapter. Let's just say this is where the real awkwardness begins. Emma hasn't seen anything yet. (-; **_

"How are we going to eat?"

"Easily. We'll take turns. Or perhaps we can work together to achieve the goal of filling our bellies," he proposed. Emma's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something downright horrible.

"There is no way I'm going to spoon-feed you. And how do you expect us to shower?"

He shrugged from where he lounged at his kitchen table. Emma tried to pace in her restlessness, but her stride was short-lived. It didn't prevent the worries from mounting at all. The list of challenges in her near future had haunted her mind ever since Gold invited her into his pink domain.

The most feared man in Storybrooke—in all of the Enchanted Forest, for that matter—lived in a pink house. And the commercials claimed Starburst was a contradiction.

"I suppose you'll have to stand outside the curtain while I pamper away. Or you could always shimmy into a bathing suit and join me." The daggers zooming out of her scorching emerald eyes stifled his fantasies. He waved a hand to signal her relaxation before she pulled another gun. "Quip. Not serious."

"You think this is funny?"

He had to fight to keep the smile from slipping over his face. Something warned him she would not appreciate it. Oh, Emma was just so delightful when she became frantic this way. It was like dangling a piece of string in front of a kitten and watching it leap for it.

"You have to admit there is something amusing about our predicament. What are the odds you would find yourself handcuffed to me this morning? Or that I would receive such lovely company this evening? Perhaps I should have done some spring cleaning." Emma quit pacing pathetically and glowered. "I take it by your silence you don't agree."

It was only the second time she had ever set foot inside his house and already she wanted out.

It was beyond her element completely, standing in Gold's territory. It was much too stuffy due to the fact she couldn't take her jacket off, the living room was crowded with dusty antiques, and she did not want to even hear the words _bed _and _room _together.

She placed her hands on the table and leaned down to him until their bodies nearly brushed. He barely moved a muscle, only because he waited to see what she would do. Ooh, he could feel the warmth of her frustration. He never batted an eyelid under her stare.

"There is nothing amusing about being handcuffed to you," she retorted, her voice dropping dangerously low. "Think about it. Everything that you or I took for granted has been stripped away—freedom, privacy, the luxury of good hygiene…."

Suddenly, her eyes flew open wide, her body rocketing upwards. His limbs nearly tore out of its sockets. All she could do was press a hand to her mouth in horror. There went the pacing again.

"Um…what do we do if either one of us…has to…use the bathroom?"

The possibility made her shudder. It was a violation of privacy and invasive and so not what she needed to be worrying about what with this curse broken. It was something she would normally never think about during the day. Even _that_ would require effort.

And Gold seemed without a care in the world! Honestly, the guy had his feet propped up on his table, admiring his manicured nails. He waved his other hand and Emma instantly experienced a warm sensation pooling deep into her abdomen.

What the hell did he just do? Impregnate her? Was it even possible to magically impregnate someone?

Her hands scrambled over the hem of her jeans as she scoured for some odd discoloration, abnormal swelling, missing articles of clothing, a mermaid tail; any sign for what Gold may have done with magic. She charged for him, ready to demand answers, but he held up a hand.

"Relax, Emma. All I did was cast a tiny spell that would prevent either of us from needing to use the bathroom until we've escaped these cuffs. It's been quite useful to me in our world whenever I kept tabs on my customers from the bushes," he said.

Emma stopped ruffling her clothes and gawked openly.

"You have a spell that helps you not to…pee? You watch people from the bushes?" Instincts told her that she would be paranoid of the bushes that lined the diner's walkway from now on. Gold lowered his feet from the table and frowned.

"Well, you can't expect me to keep hopping up every time my bladder acts up! In our world, we don't have the pleasure of doughnuts to distract us during a stake-out. And you make that sound like the most wrongful thing I have ever done."

"No, but I'm sure it's somewhere in the Top 5," she shot back.

Was that why he knew so much in this town? He watched people from the bushes during his free time? What if he'd been watching…_her?_ The darts to a makeshift poster of Regina's face, kicking off her boots and sliding across the station's floor in her socks with Henry, her extra stash of bear claws…

Oh, no….not her bear claws!

"If you wish, I could always turn you into a snail. Should make it easier for you to slip out of the cuffs," he suggested.

The way he pressed a hand charmingly to his chest, he was making himself out to be her knight in shining armor. A knight equipped with a cane instead of a sword—how wonderful. The thought of being a snail, however, wasn't very romantic. Not to mention that it put her in a vulnerable position.

"What, so you can crush me afterwards?"

His valor faltered. Those earth-brown eyes reflected dismay, as if he could not believe she would think so lowly of him. Seriousness dripped off his body in layers as he leaned forward in his seat, tapping his cane against the kitchen floor.

"I would never crush you."

She almost believed it.

….

Dinner came all too quickly for Emma's taste. The clock struck five when her stomach began to growl in its demands for satisfying food. It also arrived with arguing.

"We are not having steak," she objected and hurried to put back all the ingredients Gold had just carefully placed on the counter. He exhaled in annoyance and slapped a hand on the counter.

"Did you forget whose house this happens to be, dearie? Mine. And if I want steak on my dinner table, I shall have steak on my dinner table! No exceptions."

He hauled her back to the fridge to gather up the steak again. She was tempted to slam the refrigerator door on his hand.

"Whatever happened to good hospitality toward your guests?" From the dark look on his face, Gold wouldn't have shown hospitality to the President. All he wanted was for his rules to be respected. "There is no way eating steak will work. For one thing, it's going to make cutting up the steak awkward and I'm not going to have you do it for me like I'm a child. And what if you try to eat, I pull the wrong way, and you end up stabbing yourself?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Fear not, Emma. A simple knife won't kill me," he assured her. Great. Now he assumed she was fearful for his life.

"Pity. Steak's out of the question."

Emma lifted the steak from his hands and tossed it back in the fridge. She quickly shut the door and leaned against it to block Gold's path. Too late she realized it also allowed him to corner her in one tight space. Placing his one free hand next to her head, his body loomed over her, trapping her efficiently against the fridge.

"I don't recall nominating you the lady of the household," he murmured, his breath tickling her skin. Why did she suddenly hear an unspoken _yet _at the end of that sentence? He massaged his forehead anxiously, debating. "Would spaghetti make you happy? You and I can share a plate."

She grimaced. Spaghetti was better….but not by much.

"And re-enact the romantic scene from _Lady and the Tramp _where we both somehow slurp up the same string of spaghetti and end up kissing? No, thanks."

Technically, she would be hard-pressed to experience that moment with Gold, but she wasn't taking chances. Fate had a terrible sense of humor lately. Gold groaned and lifted away from the fridge.

"Why must you be so damn stubborn? There is no satisfying you, is there? I suggest steak and you argue against it. I offer spaghetti and you don't want that out of fear it will miraculously become intimate," he grumbled. He pointed an accusing finger at her chest. "What _do _you want?"

Emma gazed around his celebrity-worthy kitchen, searching for ideas. Taking the reins, she led the way to his cupboards and searched through every single one. She wanted something that wouldn't require her to cook alongside Gold, something easy to eat.

He watched her curiously as she toted him around by the arm to the freezer. There was really only one thing of interest in mind and she cradled it in her hands. The fog seeping from the freezer enveloped her shoulders, illuminating her grin.

"How do you feel about ice cream for dinner?"

….

Their meal was a banquet fit for a rotten child, consisting mostly of junk food.

Emma had gathered everything from the kitchen that would take little to no preparation. Gold wasn't very pleased at the lack of steak, but he practically drooled over the temptation of ice cream.

Their plates heaped with peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, _Chips Ahoy! _cookies, Saltine crackers minus the salt, a couple of pickles from the jar in the fridge, a bag of red grapes, a bottle of wine, and finally ice cream sundaes for dessert. Her belly was bursting by the time they were done.

Emma never knew Gold had such a sweet tooth for the creamy treat. He was cheerful as a young boy in an ice cream shop. His cone dripped with chocolate fudge, too much vanilla ice cream, Christmas-colored sprinkles, rainbow jimmies, and a cherry on top.

Where the hell did he put all of it?

The way he concentrated on licking up every runaway drop of vanilla was fascinating. Michelangelo surely never worked that hard a day in his life. The way his tongue slithered out, tracing the edge of the cone, savoring every drop that fell onto it…

"If you're not going to eat that cone, maybe you should give it to someone who will appreciate it," he remarked as soon as she'd been caught staring. Or was he already aware that she was staring and had let her look? Her own ice cream—half-eaten—was melting.

"Here, have it then," she said, holding it out.

The smile dominated her lips as intense delight lit up his face at the offering. Gladly, he accepted the cone into his other hand and switched off between licking the vanilla away. Left, right, left, right. No one in Storybrooke would ever believe this if she told them.

She rested her head back on the couch and scanned the living room they were sitting in. It would be a really nice room if he sorted out all the clutter and antiques. There was a fireplace, but you could hardly see it underneath the trinkets and instruments barring it.

She wondered how well he could play.

"Well," his voice brought her back from her musings. He swallowed the rest of his ice cream and dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief from inside his suit. "That was…the strangest meal I've ever had in this house."

The smile flitted across her face before she could stop it, surprising both of them.

"I'd recommend Granny's, but neither of us probably wants this to become public," she replied, shaking the handcuffs in the air. No doubt there would be gossip, cameras, and Red poking her Sweethearts into their business if they did.

"Indeed not," he agreed. He leaned back in his seat and draped a hand across his full stomach. He closed his eyes peacefully for a few moments. "I'll make you a deal, Emma. Tomorrow night, I decide the contents of our dinner. It can be your turn again the following night. Call it a truce."

She raised an eyebrow in speculation. What type of dinner would he possibly plan? The steak? Or something sneakier? Did he want to stride into Granny's and flaunt the fact that he was hopelessly handcuffed to Storybrooke's Sheriff?

Her mind roved over the details of his deal. This was assuming they would still be in this situation tomorrow night or the day after. Logic warned her they would be and, unless there was divine intervention, it was bound to happen. But she found herself holding out her hand, anyway.

She'd shaken up the sanctity of his home enough.

"Deal."

He grasped her hand firmly, his heat seeping into her skin. It lasted longer that was necessary, his grip reluctant in loosening. Her fingers curled into her palm and she reclined back, wondering what would be on the menu tomorrow. A yawn threatened to overtake her.

"Okay….let's do it," she said. His head snapped up, shocked by the finality of her tone. His eyes nearly boggled out of their sockets. Had she spoken a different language by accident?

"You mean…._it?" _Oh, God. He was thinking of….Did he assume she was _that _desperate? She gave him a pointed look.

"It…as in go to bed. As in sleep." He made a round 'O' with his lips. Silly man. Rising to his feet, Gold dusted off his suit and gestured a hand to the stairs.

"Follow me." Anywhere he went, she went. Cane in hand, Gold led her to a place she had never imagined entering before: his bedroom.

…..

"So, how shall we do this?"

Of course Gold had to be smug about this part. He had nothing to worry about other than inviting an attractive woman into the most intimate place in his sanctuary. How cruel a fate that must be.

Emma stood beside him at the end of the bed and glared at the king-size dwelling meant specifically for the owner of the house and his lover. She despised the airiness of his bedroom, loathed the silk sheets that naturally wrapped around his body every night, screamed inside at the thought of having to share Gold's bed for any length of time.

She ignored the smaller voice that tingled with dark thrill and threatened to make her toes wiggle with the prospect of the challenge ahead. That part of her she intended to stuff away deep in her soul and never unleash it to the world.

"Can't we just…camp out in the living room? Pitch a tent in the backyard? Sleep in sleeping bags on the floor? Fall asleep sitting up at the kitchen table?"

Her resistance rang through loud and clear, which only seemed to spur on his amusement. She was beginning to think this man thrived on her discomfort. Smarmy bastard.

"Since you asked so politely…no," he mocked her. His glee radiated off in waves.

She had the urge to stick out her tongue, but didn't want to stoop to his level of immature antics. That would only egg him on further. Either that or he'd mistake it for a request to French kiss. The thought made her weak at the knees.

"Not only have I been denied a proper dinner, but you wish to deny me the comfort of my own bed. Sorry, _sweetheart,_ but I shall be sleeping between those sheets with or without you."

It was a contradictory ultimatum that had only one true option. It crawled along her skin, the hair on her nape rising on end.

"Call me sweetheart one more time," she dared.

Deliberately, he took a step forward. It minimized the distance between them enough to make her pulse race in her veins. His neck craned until his breath fluttered the lightest strands of her hair, his lips curving maliciously before splitting apart, revealing his teeth.

"Sweetheart," he breathed onto her skin, pronouncing it with delectable leisure and ease. His accent added a velvety promise to it, rich and smooth as hot chocolate. Emma felt her blood boil at his audacity an instant before she raised her hand to slap him…

….but he readily caught her wrist before her palm could reach its target. His fingers encircled it, trapping it in an iron grip. His thumb traced a blue vein that throbbed against her skin.

"Ah, ah, ah! Manners, Emma. Or shall I have to revoke my hospitality?"

She deciphered the message between the lines—he was implying that they would land on her parents' doorstep instead. Even though she was twenty-eight, it made her feel the same way as if a teacher were planning on telling her parents she'd bombed a test.

Flattening her lips together, she squirmed out of Gold's grasp.

"What are you going to do? Make me sleep on the floor while you get a good night's sleep in your bed?" Some hospitality. He shrugged, his shoulders rolling lithely under the fabric of his suit.

"You don't have to. It's your choice, Emma," he said.

Floor or Gold's bed? Tough choice.

She rubbed her weary neck as she contemplated it. What if he was the snuggling type? What if she awoke to find him half on top of her with his arm around her waist? Her eyes inevitably dropped to those deceptively calm pianist fingers. Who knew what they were capable of?

"I promise to keep my hands to myself." The only consolidation she had was that Gold never broke his word.

Floor or bed…She finally made her decision. _Fine. But the only reason I'm agreeing to this is because I'm putting off explaining this to my parents. And because I'd rather not have a crick in my neck tomorrow. That's it. _

Gold could always massage the knot out of her neck. Surely those fingers could be put to good use—

What was she thinking?

It was that small voice again, never knowing when to quit. She gave it a good mental kick. She blamed it on the tiredness overwhelming her after this stressful day. The notion of her being even remotely attracted to Gold was just….ridiculous.

"Well, I'll need to undress and change into sleepwear. I can't exactly sleep in jeans and a leather jacket," she hinted. Technically, she could sleep in it, but what she really meant was that she would prefer not to. Plus, she didn't want Gold's hands touching her beautiful jacket. "I'm assuming you have something I can borrow in there."

She jerked her head toward the closet. Judging from its size, it was nearly a walk-in. Regina should be jealous.

"I suppose I might be able to wrangle up some clothes for you," he agreed, his gaze traveling over her form. Why did it sound like there was a catch to this? "If…you ask politely."

And…there was the catch.

He tilted his head inquisitively and waited. She exhaled impatiently. She knew he could stand there all night or else let her sleep in the clothes currently hugging her back. The tank-top she wore underneath this jacket she could wear, but she had slept too many times in her car to know that leather was not suitable for nighttime.

"Can I borrow something to wear tonight….please?" He smiled with utmost satisfaction.

"Of course," he was too happy to grant her plea. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" That was it—she stuck out her tongue to the back of his head. The smug, arrogant imp deserved it. "Not many women are so willing to offer me their tongue, Emma. Better tuck it away—I can't promise I'd return it once I've taken it."

The blush crept along her cheeks, scalding as a blistering sunburn. _How did he…? You know what, I don't even want to know. Or is able to read me that well? _

With Emma by his side, he ventured to the closet and slid the door open to reveal the beloved storage of his suits and other fancy attire. He flicked a switch to illuminate the interior of the closet in a milky light. Walking among the racks of finely-pressed suits, he sifted through for something appropriate for Emma.

If he thought she was walking around this house in one of his dress-shirts, he was off his rocker.

"These should suit you," he murmured, making his selection.

It wasn't a dress shirt he handed over, but a pair of crimson silk pajamas with gold trim, taken from a shelf. They felt cool as liquid in her hands. She tried to imagine Gold wearing them—obviously he must have once or twice—but found it disconcerting.

"Thank you," she replied, cradling the pajamas to her chest. Now came the tricky part. But, God, she couldn't strip with him eyeing her up and down a foot away. "Well….turn around."

She made a twirling gesture with her finger. Humoring her need for an illusion of privacy, he turned around as much as he could. His handcuffed arm outstretched behind him to accommodate the movement of her own imprisoned hand.

This was bound to be awkward.

First she kicked off her boots, nearly tripping as she maneuvered the heels of her feet to edge her way out of them. Then it was time to shed her jeans. Her gaze flickered to the back of Gold's head, but it remained dutifully straightforward. Releasing a shaky breath, she used her free hand to undo the button on her jeans and wrench the zipper down; she'd rather not have his hand anywhere near…_there._

The jeans she found easy to shimmy out of as soon as she began shifting her hips. Unfortunately, it required both hands to wrestle her way into Gold's pajamas. She winced when she realized how that sounded. That was…not what she meant.

Bending forward, she clumsily stuck one leg through one pant leg and then did the same with the other. Gold had stumbled a bit from the awkward angle, but she didn't care so long as he stayed turned around. She was forced to roll her hips like she was balancing a hula-hoop in order to get the pants up to her waist.

There. So far so good.

The pajamas were a little big in size with the very bottoms brushing past her ankles, but it would do. _I am handcuffed to Gold and I'm wearing his pajamas. We might as well share a drink with two straws and finish each other's sentences. _

Only the shirt was left. All she had to do was slip off her leather jacket. She just….had to…there must be a way to…if she turned it this way…

"Damn," she hissed under her breath. Gold's head pivoted slightly in her direction. That man heard everything, it seemed.

"Problem?" Heat rushed to Emma's neck while she struggled to choose her words carefully. The majority of her jacket trailed behind her like an over-grown tail. There was no easy or favorable way to say this.

"I…I, uh….can't take off my top."

The intensity of his smirk was so great; she felt it even with his back turned. The jacket kept sliding halfway off her shoulders, her free arm loose from its sleeve, but the other sleeve was trapped by the handcuff. There was no removing it.

"If it troubles you so badly, I could magic it off you," he offered. Was that a hint of excitement in his voice? Emma studied his back, then the silk pajama top.

"In other words, you'll dress me up like a life-size Barbie doll." Despite her negativity, she really wanted out of this jacket. For one thing, it was too humid in this bedroom. Or maybe it was her anger and frustration fueling the heat. "Don't peek."

The hand chained to hers wavered for a moment. Her jacket seemed to melt off her body, replaced with the silk top. The jacket and grungy tank-top were magically deposited beside his bed. Emma rubbed her arm over her body, smoothing down the pajamas and testing the feel of them.

Talk about invading someone's personal space.

"May I turn around now?" He didn't wait for her answer. As she fidgeted with the cuffs of the too-long sleeves, his brown eyes devoured every small detail. He whistled lowly through his teeth. "My, those pajamas compliment your body far greater than they ever did mine."

A tingling sensation started up in her belly as he shamelessly stared. She didn't know whether to be grateful for the compliment or unnerved due to the immense hunger in his grin. For the first time, she mused how lonely this man must be, living in a grand house all alone.

Not that she was sacrificing herself as a roommate or anything.

"Your turn," she announced, stalking past him to the closet.

She checked over her shoulder to make sure his gaze wasn't following her or traveling anywhere unseemly. Just as he had done, she faced the inside of the closet with her hand extended uncomfortably behind her. She desperately tried not to dwell on Gold's body warmth.

There was a sharp metallic snap as his buckle came undone, a ruffle of clothing as his suit pants drifted to the hardwood floor. A bead of sweat rolled across her brow. She fought to keep her mind blank, but it was too hard when she instinctively knew that Gold was half-naked a mere foot away.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around, do not turn around…_The temptation nudged her brain. Not many people could say they'd been in a room with Gold half-naked. Not many wanted to, either. But she bit her lip and chanted away the desire.

Instead, she focused on the floor-length mirror attached to the back wall of the closet. It was a strange thing, seeing her reflection clad in Gold's pajamas. It consumed her until she couldn't resist rotating halfway to view the pajamas from different angles—

Wait.

There was a mirror here. Tilting her head, she viewed past her body and caught movement in the background. If she leaned against the doorframe like Gold had been doing, she would be able to watch him undress.

Why, that sneaky, conniving, little…

"You have a _mirror _in your closet? I may as well have put on an entire strip-show for you and—"

Without thinking, she spun around to confront him on the matter, but stopped dead in her tracks. Gold was in the process of changing into a pair of black pajama pants not unlike her own.

It wasn't the bareness of his thighs that distracted her—though, that should have been enough—but it was the patch of gnarled flesh that caught her eye. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, so brutal and painful in appearance. Everything else about his skin was smooth, except for that one spot where it rippled. A piece of the canvas that someone or someting ravaged beyond repair.

"Mind if I continue dressing? Or do you prefer to gawk a moment longer?"

The bitterness in his voice shook her from her reverie. She quickly lowered her eyes to his bare feet as he finished putting on his pants. He used magic to change his shirt, much like he had done with hers.

"What happened to your leg?" Soon it was covered up and she was no longer able to study it. But she sensed it there, hiding under the thin layer of silk. He averted his gaze from her, the impish behavior lost.

"I know you and I don't have the pleasures of privacy or mindless morning routines while we're chained together, but there are some things I still hold sacred. My leg being the first of them," he coldly replied.

That was as straight-up a _no _that Gold could muster. Emma huffed at his insolence of playing the sacred card. He was willing to peek at her while she undressed, but avoided the subject of his leg?

"Fine by me. Let's get one thing straight. Tomorrow, I'm breaking that mirror," she shot back, glaring at her reflection. She would have liked to believe that these cuffs wouldn't be an issue after tomorrow, but optimism was in short supply in her world. "And I'm not getting in that bed until we set some ground rules. No touching, no leering, no snuggling, no hogging the blanket, and no snoring in my ear. As far as you're concerned, I'm not here."

His expression darkened as she more or less made her demands under his roof. He bridged his fingers together and feigned compliance. But she knew better—Gold never appreciated being told what to do.

"Well, that will be a difficult task when we're absorbing each other's body heat during the night. Anything else I can do for you, _Princess?"_

She scowled as he blatantly insulted her with her birth-given royal title. Funny—she never felt like a princess. And yet the barb stung a tiny bit.

"Wouldn't want to trouble you," she returned.

Even the task of climbing into bed was an odd one. Emma volunteered to lay down first so she wouldn't have to crawl over and potentially straddle Gold. She took the spot closest to the window and he slid in after her. She patted down the blanket between them, creating an unspoken barrier. All she could do was lie on her back unless she wanted her arm to be in an awkward position all night.

The silence mocked her, ear-shattering in its lack of noise. It was hard to fall asleep with Gold's body inches away. He better not be the snuggling type.

"Goodnight, Emma." Hah, fat chance of that happening.

"Goodnight…Gold."

…..

Gold couldn't fall asleep.

He lay rigid on his back, the silk sheets drawn up to his waist, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling high above as though it held all the answers to this trivial situation. It had been a long surreal day, yet his brain refused to power down. His thoughts whirred on, spewing black poison this way and that.

Every now and then, he snuck a glance at his sleeping partner. Emma had fallen asleep a few hours ago, though her brow was knitted uncomfortably. Gently, he dared to extend a finger and smooth it out, letting his thumb linger a moment too long before his hand dropped to the covers once more.

It had been quite some time since he last had a woman in his bed. Figuratively or literally, it didn't matter.

It was impossible for him to grasp that Emma might ever be attracted to him. Not after everything he had done—separating her from her parents for nearly three decades, securing her a rough and lonely childhood and life, landing her mother in jail, stranding her in that elevator after she battled the dragon Maleficent.

It was too much hurt to even consider that she might pardon it.

And what else did he have going for him, really? What else could he possibly offer?

He was an ancient being with a dark, forsaken past who meddled in shady deals and granted the most unholy of requests. He had succeeded in hurting any person who dared take a step too close—she would be no different. He was a lonely, crippled man whose physique would not hold up in a magazine, let alone in comparison to the younger men in town…or out _there._ He was not generous or compassionate or honest or gentle in nature—that coward died years ago and left behind the burden of a title to prove he existed.

Why should a woman like Emma Swan, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, plus the savior to boot, ever desire him? It made no sense.

And yet, here she was in his bed, sleeping beneath his sheets, snoozing softly into his pillow, wearing his pajamas. The only reason she was here tonight was because the handcuffs forced it, but that was the mystery that ensnared his mind. The handcuffs _worked. _

He wished he could share an inkling of her desperation and logic that there might be another way out, but he would only be lying to himself. He knew how magic worked and this magic was especially dark. There was only one true harmless way it would be undone.

The ultimate plane of intimacy nurtured between two people.

It was bound to happen sometime—unless Emma decided to cut off her hand or end her life. Or do the same to him.

It would be a slow process in forthcoming, but it was inevitable. With every passing minute, every passing day, Emma would likely draw closer to him. The denial and panic would fade; she would begin to cope with the fate of being handcuffed to him, perhaps seek out a thread of sunshine under the black cloud of rain.

Her mind would rationalize that since they were stuck together, they might as well make the best of it. The smiles would come easier, the sarcasm not so harsh, the touches more tender than in the past. The spark would be ignited; the intensity between them would climb. The distance between them would decrease until it became too much to bear and it exploded altogether in one lustful, all-consuming fit of passion.

Or Emma would cut her hand off.

Even if it did happen, it would be an illusion.

The spell would break once the handcuffs were off. Emma would question what they had done, she would only show him disgust and revulsion, regret sharp as a dagger's blade. It was inevitable. She would leave his bed cold and lonely and return to her life. Neither of them would speak of what had passed between them, it would all be forgotten like a hazy dream.

Life would go on.

He was not prepared for it, even while he felt himself slipping over the edge.

A low moan shattered his dismal train of thought. Beside him, Emma stirred though she did not wake up. The chain rattled as her arm blindly swept some of the hair from her face. Her tongue darted out to trace her upper lip.

And then she did something that startled him completely.

In an attempt to find a comfortable spot, she scooted across the mattress…and she laid her head atop his chest. He lifted his hands away before she buried her nose into the silk of his pajama top. His hands remained in the air, hesitant to touch her lest she awaken. He was sure she could hear the pounding rhythm of his heart as she sighed deeply.

Even more surprising, she _smiled_.

It puzzled him to no end. There was no doubt Emma would be disturbed to find she had willingly cuddled with him in her sleep. Or perhaps she would blame him. He should urge her away, reposition her on her respective side of the bed.

But it was futile to deny that he liked having her so close. Gods, he could smell the enticing scent of lilac embedded in the blonde waves of her hair. It felt soothing to carry the weight of her head on his chest, to bask in her warmth on this terribly chilly February night.

And Emma was a notoriously stubborn woman. If she subconsciously intended to snuggle with him—for reason he could not fathom—pushing her off wasn't guaranteed to work. With his luck, she would do it again and again until he gave in.

Or maybe that's just what he was trying to convince himself.

So he rested his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes, welcoming sleep. His hand softly stroked her blonde hair as he joined her in a dreamless slumber.

If he was fated to be handcuffed to Emma Swan, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

….

_**Of course, I must thank all those that reviewed. Your words were absolutely wonderful to read and I'm glad so many are enjoying this story. Here's to The Auburn Girl, DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Musicalfan2012, discotimelord, nuckythompson, sundancemc, Lost Astronaut of Apollo 11, cat4444, FortunesFavour, SwanQueen4055, DragonRose4, night animal, ValueMyHeart, Black Heart, AngelofDarkness1605, BundyShoes, la-stella-immortale, and sbcarri. **_

_**Just wait until the morning routine starts. (-; **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Well, I can honestly say that the readers will enjoy this chapter. It's a long one and a good one. Plenty of Golden Swan goodness. I won't spoil it. Enjoy! **_

_Mmm…these pillows are so comfortable…where does he get them? I might buy one for my bed,_ Emma dreamily mused and proceeded to bury her nose deeper in the silky fabric. God, it was so unbelievably warm! It smelled good, too—she couldn't resist inhaling it deeply until she lavished it on her tongue. And…something throbbed against her cheek. Was it a vibrating pillow, too? How fancy was that?

Funny—through her sleepy stupor, she could swear the rhythm was less of a vibration and more along the pattern of a heartbeat…

Heartbeat.

Pillows didn't have heartbeats.

Her eyelids lazily parted to study the breathing black silk against her face. And then her eyes shot open wide, her nerves strumming and suddenly alert. A button nudged her nose. That wasn't the fabric of the pillow Emma's head cuddled with; it was a pajama top.

It was Gold's pajama top.

She had been cuddling…with Gold! The notion sent a bucketful of ice cold water splashing over her mind, jarring her irrevocably awake.

It was a good thing he seemed to still be asleep. There would doubtlessly be a quip about this. To be honest, he looked much more peaceful in sleep. Gone were the lines of anxiety often creasing his forehead, gone was the guarded stiffness in his muscles, in swept a deceptive innocence.

She wondered what he was dreaming about, if anything at all. His dusty brown hair draped across his jaw and she had a brief urge to brush it away. He didn't snore, either. His chest rose and fell quietly, his lips slightly parted as though he were a male Sleeping Beauty enchanted in slumber, awaiting true love's kiss.

Well, he wasn't getting it from her. Not today.

She slowly inched away, trying desperately not to stir him. Something tugged on her head and she winced from the momentary discomfort. Reaching behind her head, she scrambled around until she felt something warm and solid. She realized that his fingers were threaded through her hair, as if he'd been stroking it. Every time she moved her handcuffed wrist, his fingers dragged through the blonde ocean of waves.

No-good handcuffs.

Using her other arm, she tried to untangle his fingers from her hair. The problem was, Emma had never been an easy sleeper. Even during nights where she didn't toss and turn, her hair would be riddled with tantalizing knots and patches of ratty tangles. The hopeless bramble seemed more than eager to take in Gold's hand, swallowing it whole.

What was she to do? She wasn't going to lie on his chest like his lover and wait for him to wake so he could reclaim his invasive hand. This called for creativity.

An idea popped into her mind and she bit sharply down on her tongue as she digested it. It might wake him up, but she didn't care. All she wanted was his hand out of her hair. She needed to tickle him, to encourage him to move his hand away.

With not much room to move her head, she angled her body to view his calm, sleeping face. Once or twice, his fingers pulled her hair the opposite way, causing her to wince. Craning her neck inches from her face, she silently parted her lips and blew softly on his skin.

If she could just get him to move his hand from her hair, get him to itch his face….

The reaction was instantaneous: his eyebrows knitted together, his nose scrunched from the abrupt stream of air. But his hand did not move from her nest of curls. Nor did the other one, which was resting by his side. She carefully trapped his other wrist with her hand, in case he thought about using that one. Of course, it also meant she had to position her knee in between his legs to reach over there…

Again, she blew, but this time a little harder. _I feel like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down the brick house. No offense to Red. _Slowly, his hand began to shift through her hair, unintentionally caressing the strands. She began to release another gust of wind, begging him to react.

That was precisely when he awoke to find her body half on top of him, her face inches from his with her lips still puckered. He cocked an eyebrow, his brown eyes glinting with pleasant surprise.

"Are you role-playing the tale of Snow White, dearie?" Just to drive his point home, he let his eyes flutter closed again. "Alright, I'm ready for that magnificent kiss."

Emma gave him something else instead—a fist to the chest. It knocked the air from his lungs and he removed that wretched hand from her hair to massage the spot. His legs threatened to close around her knee, but she jumped off his body before he could accomplish it.

"That's what you get for stroking my hair," she retorted. Maybe this was the reason Medusa had snakes. Gold rubbed his chest and huffed.

"Need I remind you—_you_ are the one who broke your own rule. _You_ are the one who cuddled with _me_. Clearly, I am the one being violated," he remarked. Emma was about to shoot off a clever protest to that sentiment, but the jingle of her cell phone intercepted her focus. She swept it up from the bedside table. It was Snow calling.

Damn.

Emma instinctively knew she'd have to explain this situation to her parents sooner or later, especially when she failed to come home. She was simply hoping to prolong it for a little while longer. Ignoring the phone call would only make things worse in the long run, so she reluctantly answered.

She couldn't even get one word out before Snow's voice burst through the phone.

_"Emma? Where are you? Are you hurt? You never came home last night and that's not like you. If Regina did something-" _Emma held the phone from her ear while Snow rattled on. With any luck, she was camped out in the kitchen armed with a bow and arrow.

"Relax, I'm fine. Well…no…depends on your definition of fine. But I'm breathing, if that's what you mean," she replied tiredly. Gold lounged back on his side of the bed, his ankles crossing one over the other. His lips started to curl at the corners and she whacked him again on the chest. At his flicker of annoyance, she held a finger to her lips.

"Emma, _where are you?" _Oh, yeah….that question. The one Emma so wanted to avoid.

She twirled a string of blonde hair around her finger as she contemplated the right words. Who was she kidding? There were no proper words to inform your fairy-tale parents that their daughter was handcuffed to the man they least trusted in this world. Her only upside to this story was that she didn't marry him.

"It's…complicated. Did Henry tell you anything?" There was a pause.

"No, he never said a word about it. When he came home, he dashed up the stairs to his room. Afterwards, he was fine, and he had that goofy grin on his face like he does whenever he's keeping a secret. Is there something I should know?"

Emma hung her head. _Well, now that you mention it…_

"For starters, our relationship has never been closer. Right, Emma?" Gold had overheard every word Snow said and threw in his two cents on the matter. Emma lurched over his body and clamped her hand over his mouth. But she knew it was too late. It was too quiet on the other end.

"Emma…was that Rumpelstiltskin's voice I heard in the background? But of course it must have been. There aren't many people in this town with distinguishing Scottish accents." Busted.

Her mouth flopped open like a fish, struggling to come up with a decent explanation. _You see, Mom, Gold and I are kind of handcuffed together and the only way to get out of it is by allowing him to make love to me. _Nope, that wouldn't go over well. Gold's tongue slipped out from his lips and tickled her hand, causing her to wrench it away in disgust.

"Um…I….we…" Nothing was making sense. And now she had Gold germs on her hand. The things his tongue did…How terribly uncivilized. Instead of cooties, she might as well call them Goldies.

God, she needed a refreshing cup of coffee to stir her mind awake; it was sluggish and cranky. She wouldn't be thinking these strange thoughts if she had a chance to run through her morning routine and get some fresh air. If only that could be accomplished with privacy.

"You know what, I have a better idea to handle this," Snow said and a dull click sounded in Emma's ear as she hung up. Emma stared at the phone in horror. Did her mother seriously just hang up on her? What kind of support was that? Oh, god, was she being disowned?

Then her phone rang again, this time with a text message. Ah, Snow was making sure Gold could not listen in to their conversation. _Emma, what is going on? _Gold tried peeking over the screen, but Emma tucked it close to her chest. Her fingers flew over the keys, typing away her problems in secure silence.

_Here's the thing…don't freak out…alright? _She sent that message along first. Snow instantly replied with a terrified-looking smiley face. It had eyeballs that were three times bigger than its head.

_Perfect way to start this conversation, Emma. You're sleeping with him, aren't you? Oh, gods, are you PREGNANT? _

Emma nearly dropped the phone onto her lap, which would have allowed Gold to view that message any way he liked. She could feel his eyes on her face as she paled.

_That_ was her mother's first assumption? She was secretly sleeping around with Gold? It must be those Mary Margaret genes floating to the surface. At least she didn't have a one-night stand with a creepy doctor after three drinks at Granny's Diner. Gold didn't seem the type for one-night stands, anyway—he was all or nothing.

_NO! Sex has nothing to do with it. Well….I mean….this may be difficult for you to process. Trust me, I'm still wrapping my mind around it. Gold and I….we're kind of…handcuffed together, _she finally mustered up the courage to type out. She pressed send before she could think twice about it.

It was terribly quiet, her phone unmoving. Was her mother having a heart attack? Was she passing this information along to Charming? If she did, Gold would no doubt have Charming busting down his door with a sword. And then her phone's screen lit up. Emma forced herself to read the message.

_WHAT?!_

Yeah, Snow was having a panic attack.

"Did you tell Mommy Dearest about your infatuation with my chest?"

Gold quipped from beside her, clearly bored and irritated with not being involved in this conversation she was having. Emma shot him a dark look and went back to typing. Her heart raced and she felt like a child who had been caught sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. Out of Gold's cookie jar, anyway.

_It was Henry's fault! And yours, too, for buying him that magic kit for Christmas! What were you thinking? _Here she was, acting like Snow's mother again instead of the other way around. Archie would have a field day dissecting their communications with one another. He'd be as rich as Gold soon, what with all the deranged problems surfacing after the curse broke.

_Do you have a key? _Emma rolled her eyes. What kind of question was that? Did her mother think she enjoyed being handcuffed to Gold? She didn't think it was a good idea to ask that question.

_If I had a key, would I still be sleeping here in his bed? _She instantly regretted sending that one. No doubt her mother would be trying to scrub the image of her daughter cuddling with Gold. The phone buzzed one more time.

_Come to dinner tonight. We'll talk about it._

Perfect—she was using the 'we' sentiment. Emma instinctively knew this wouldn't simply be between her and her mother. Charming would be involved, which meant he'd be waiting with a sword. Probably hoping to chop off Gold's hand himself. Dinner would turn out swell.

Another buzz. Emma wondered what it was this time. _Relax, Mom, I know where you live. _She checked the screen.

_So…does he…you know…look good in bed? Scale of one to ten? _

Emma could not have hid the astonishment under a mask if she were wearing one. Gold raised an eyebrow in curiosity and reached out for the phone, but Emma lunged away from him. She nearly toppled off the bed.

Did her mother seriously ask her if Gold was attractive in bed? What was this world coming to? It was like having a mother who shared an interest in Brad Pitt, except this was ten times worse. Once her amazement in her mother's bluntness faded, she found herself watching Gold from the corner of her eye and typing a reply.

_Eight. Maybe nine. _

She blushed and questioned her sanity for a brief moment. If someone told her that she'd be sharing Gold's bed and rating him on a scale of one to ten—favorably—she probably would have had a good laugh. She set her phone on the bedside table and caught Gold observing her intently from where he lounged on the pillows beside her.

Why was he grinning so impishly this morning?

"So, Emma….do you want to hop in the shower first or shall I?"

…..

With a twist of the knob, a warm stream of rain poured inside the shower. The bathroom immediately began to fog up with steam, the air becoming thicker and dampening Emma's curls. However, it was not powerful enough to shield Gold from view.

She knew what came next—she turned around. _I cannot believe this is happening. _

"I'll just…stand outside the curtain," she said, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the bathroom door. No mirrors this time, except the one above the marble sink to her right. By the size of this room, Gold could host a marching band fit to entertain a king.

"You still have the opportunity of joining me," he reminded her as casually as if he were offering to buy her lunch. "Going once…going twice…two and a half…"

She wasn't biting. It was much quieter this time as he undressed, the silk barely rustling as it fell to the floor. It didn't tempt Emma to turn around as greatly as last night.

And yet it was different than last night, when Gold had simply been changing clothes. This time, as Emma kept hopelessly repeating in her mind, Gold was not only half-naked behind her. This time, he stripped down to full nudity, in all his glory, inches from her clothed back. It was a bit intimidating, a steady burst of heat rising to her cheeks.

It seemed an eternity before the screech of the curtain rings pierced her ears, the curtain being swept aside to allow Gold entrance under the warm rain. She supposed she should be grateful he didn't have a glass shower.

As he stepped into the shower, Emma was forcibly pulled backward, nearly falling into the curtain. The only thing she could do was stand at the edge of the sink with her arm halfway through the curtain. Her hand was getting wet from the spray. _I swear, if he makes my hand touch any part of his wet, bare skin…_

She couldn't even finish that thought, it was much too startling to absorb. She really didn't know what she would do if her hand made contact with Gold's body right now. Maybe she would pull him out and walk out that bathroom door….but then she would have no choice but to look at him naked.

If only she could reach the toilet and make the water in the shower freezing cold.

The scent of strawberries mixed with the vapor clouding the bathroom. Emma's hand lifted a few inches—she guessed Gold was washing his hair. She perched her hip on the edge of the sink and stared incredulously at the fluttering curtain.

"You wash your hair…with strawberry-scented shampoo?" Oh, what would become of his deadly reputation if the townsfolk heard this one? Her hand stopped moving; he paused. She would pay one thousand dollars to witness the guilty expression on his normally placid face.

She tossed her head back and sniffed the air just to be sure she had her facts right. A deep inhale…yes, strawberries.

"I happen to like the smell. No one has ever noticed before…except you," he admitted through the curtain.

Emma assumed there weren't many people in town who ever got close enough to Gold's hair to catch the whiff of strawberries. This would be a fabulous story to share with Snow and Charming. For Christmas, she would personally buy him a gift card to Bath & Body Works.

And then he did the strangest thing of all—he began to hum. Something that sounded oddly like "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from Disney's _The Little Mermaid_. It was probably his favorite Disney song, villain or otherwise. It suited him perfectly.

Did he have crabs and flounders swimming in there, too?

"You _sing_ in the _shower?"_

The song faltered until the notes died away completely. And just when she'd been about to demand an encore. At least it wasn't as whiny as when Charming belted it out in the shower. Waking up to that in the morning was worse than an alarm clock.

"Humming, Emma, not singing. There's a remarkable difference," he retorted. She mouthed the word "singing" if only to silently argue her point. The fact remained that he didn't deny doing it. "And if you're so terribly concerned with what I do in the shower, perhaps you should see for yourself."

Emma traced a finger on the foggy mirror.

"If you want me to stop contemplating cutting your hand off, maybe you should stop requesting that I join you in awkward situations," she shot back hotly. Not for the first time, she wondered how Gold really viewed her—he seemed all too eager to have her in the most inconvenient, personal ways. Under his thumb, certainly.

Or maybe he was enjoying this bond between them while it lasted. Milking it for its worth.

"I only ask because you secretly want it, but you're too afraid or distrustful of me to ask it yourself." Her finger swerved sharply on the mirror. It made her little butterfly look like it was smoking a cigarette.

The first problem with that theory was Gold's incredible ego. It was the size of Mt. Everest, filled to the brim with arrogance and self-righteousness. That was the most ridiculous line she ever heard. He honestly thought…he assumed she wanted to…what kind of nonsense…

Or was he projecting his desires onto her own confused emotions? That seemed more likely.

"That is so not true," she unconvincingly denied. Her voice sounded a tiny bit high and hesitant, kind of like it always did whenever she lied about something. This must be the price for being able to tell when someone was lying—not being a good liar herself.

Except it wasn't a lie—it couldn't be!

It was while she was doodling a flower on the mirror—similar to the one inked on her wrist—that she got her first glimpse. She stopped focusing on the layer of fog and focused instead on the newly revealed reflection in the mirror. She swiped a hand across the glass, clearing the fog away.

The curtain had drifted away from the wall, billowing out. From this angle, she could see through the sliver of curtain.

Bare skin, dripping with tiny jewels of water. A flash of movement as Gold dropped his arms, raising his face to the spray above, streams rolling down his cheeks, soaking his hair and plastering it to his temples. Those arms rose to his scalp, her hand mimicking his actions, and his muscles rippled up and down flexibly as he massaged, his shoulders rolling rhythmically.

Emma was helplessly sucked into a bittersweet trance as she watched the way Gold's muscles stretched so fluidly beneath his skin, the water coating his body with a translucent sheen. Her heart pounded in the hollow of her throat, her feet glued to the floor in front of the sink.

Before she realized she had moved an inch, she was almost pressed up against the glass, green eyes viciously locked on that revealing angle through the curtain. She rubbed a palm across the glass when the fog returned, and then scolded herself after the fact. It was like she had limited control on her body and her hands just kept wiping that mirror, demanding her to watch.

Gold attempted to rotate inside the shower and put his back to the spray. Emma was forced to turn halfway to accommodate his movements. Her head acted in the way a creepy bust in a haunted mansion might—when she turned to the side, her eyes kept the mirror in sight.

For a guy with a limp, he had a strong back. It was erect, sturdy, his shoulder blades thriving effortlessly underneath his skin. A dark thought unfurled in the back of her mind—what would it be like to feel those muscles writhing under her fingertips? She rapidly shook it away.

If she hadn't known he suffered from a lame leg, she would easily mistake him for a physically fit man. Inevitably, her gaze traveled lower, following the crease that marked his spine, lower…

Lower…

The reflection stopped at his waist. The fog returned, blocking out Gold completely behind its moist veil. Her arm loosened in stiffness as Gold turned back around.

"If it's not true, then why are you peeking?" Emma jerked back from the mirror. She opened her mouth to protest, but all that flew out were meaningless stutters. Even she could not form any denial over this accusation. Hadn't that been precisely what she was doing? Peeking? Gold chuckled. "I suppose this makes us even."

They were even, alright. Fair and square; signed, sealed, and delivered. Gold may or may not have watched her undress in that mirror last night and today Emma had been entertained with a show herself.

It was the mirror's fault, really. She glared at its glistening surface. She wondered if Regina had ever used her mirror trick after the curse broke and ended up catching an eyeful of Gold. Maybe that was why it was so cold here in Storybrooke these past few weeks—Regina was suffering from shock.

The sound of the water ceased, the knob groaning as it was cranked around. Uh-oh.

Emma had the sense to aim for the wall an instant before Gold raked the curtain aside. She heard him whip his sopping wet hair around and step from the tub. The soft pitter-patter of drops landed on the tiles as they fell from his body.

Great. Now he was bare and soaking wet. Inches from her, within hand's reach, the puddle on the floor growing toward her heels. And he wasn't dressing—at least, not that she was aware.

"Well? Don't you have a suit to change into?" _Please, don't tell me we have to go back to his room so he can pick out a suit. He'll be trailing behind me the entire way, probably ask my opinion of which suit I liked best…_She bit her lip as she imagined it.

"Yes, I do…but first, I need a towel. In case you haven't yet been informed, I'm wet," he replied wryly. The mockery in his tone was easy to decipher. He was doing this on purpose, she just knew it.

"Why can't you just use magic to dress yourself? Surely, there's a spell that acts as a virtual heat wave?" Or a spell to blow his hair dry? Or a spell to make the towels come to life and handle the task of drying off Gold's body without having him lift another finger?

"Does no one listen to my trademark warning? Say it with me, dearie. All magic comes with a price. Unfortunately, if I used magic every time our situation grew awkward, I'd have a debt on my head worth more than the FBI's Most Wanted. Plus, it' a sore thing to have towels whip at you and try to dry you off. I tried it once and that's enough for me. Now…towel, please."

Frantically, she scanned the room for a towel and spotted one on a rack next to the sink. It was a deep red, almost the same shade as her silk pajamas. Lovely. They would match once more. He probably had a hand in that, too. There was no such thing as coincidence around a man like Gold.

Stumbling forward and towing him along, she reached a hand out for the towel and slipped it free of the rack. It fell from her fingers by accident, fluttering to the tiled floor. She narrowed her eyes at it. Why did she have to be clumsy today in a room with a naked Gold? Maybe that was precisely why—she was nervous.

She would have to kneel and retrieve it.

This was almost as bad as if Gold dropped the soap.

Ever so slowly, she bent her knees and lowered onto her haunches. Her arm was stuck in the air, but she tried not to dwell on it. She sensed Gold's eyes on the back of her head, burning into her brain. It traced a scorching line down the length of her body. Emma edged forward enough to sweep up the towel.

Jolting up, she nearly collided into Gold's body.

"Thank you, Emma," he leisurely conceded, attaching meaning to every syllable. A few seconds passed before he draped the towel around his hips. Turning around, she drank in the sight of his bare chest and failed to resist glancing lower. That towel better not slip.

He extended a hand toward the shower in invitation, grandly as though he were escorting her into a marvelous ballroom.

"Your turn," he reminded her.

Emma eyed the curtain with all the anticipation of receiving a fatal injection. She took up a strand of hair and sniffed it—not too bad. And she had lasted in the same clothes for two days or so before having all her stuff moved into Mary Margaret's apartment after first arriving here.

She could live with it.

"I think I'll pass," she muttered.

Gold gave her a skeptical look and she understood they were pondering over the same thing. Sure, Emma could miss out on one day of showering for the sake of figuring a way out of these cuffs. But what if it took longer than a day to escape? What if she and Gold were handcuffed together for two days, possibly three?

She'd have to shower sometime. Just not today.

"Then you'll have to let me dress you," he relented. With that tone of voice, Gold wouldn't look out of place rubbing his palms together in glee. Yet, she spread her arms by her sides and silently gave him permission to go for it. It was less awkward than stripping off all her clothes.

"You're willing to stake a price on your head in exchange for dressing me?" Emma taunted him, eyebrows raised inquiringly. He smirked.

"You'll learn soon enough, Emma. I'm a very complex man." Oh, she was far beyond that understanding. Every time she attempted to figure him out and pin him under her thumb, he eluded her.

Gold wiggled his magical finger and went to work. _Pop!_

Instantly, the silk faded into an exquisite blood-scarlet dress meant for a gala. Straps decorated with tiny jewels and hanging loosely on her shoulders, a plunging neckline, cinched at the waist….it was a dress that women could only dream of wearing in their lifetime. Emma stared at him flatly.

_Pop!_

The dress shifted smoothly like liquid fabric into a white sports bra and shorts, her blonde hair tightly wrenched into a flowing ponytail. Somehow, this was worse than the first option.

"Gold…" She warned through her teeth.

She could tell he was having a bit of fun, testing out the limits of his abilities to dress her. Fun-time was over—she wasn't his Barbie doll. He waved his hand patiently, causing her to bristle and plant one hand firmly on her hip. His brows knitted together as he contemplated an appropriate style for her.

Then he snapped his fingers.

Gone were the sports bra and shorts, a new transformation taking place on her body. His hand dropped away, done with its work. She hesitated before glancing down, wondering what she might find this time.

Her eyes widened in awe.

A pair of clean skinny jeans covered her legs, her feet encased in black shiny boots that rose to her knees. A white sheer blouse draped her torso, similar to something her mother would wear. To top it off, there was a beautiful white leather jacket that hugged her body—she admired that the longest in the mirror.

Not bad.

"Could've been worse," she admitted softly. In the reflection, she caught the way Gold's lips lifted at the corners, his gaze absorbing his handiwork.

"Seems I know you better than you think, Miss Swan," he commented over her shoulder.

She whirled to face him, perhaps to thank him for the suitable leather jacket. It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever given her before, even if he was forced to do it because of their awkward circumstances. She caught herself before throwing her arms around him.

"What can I say? I have an affinity for leather," she replied fondly, her fingers tracing the hem of the jacket over and over. He smiled at her stroke of happiness and shrugged.

"Another thing we have in common."

And he began to lead her away to the bathroom door, back to his bedroom so that he may change into a suit. Emma gaped speechlessly at his bare back half the way until she could process what he'd said. He had an affinity…for leather? As in leather…_pants? _

_Where's the soap when I need it? _

…..

"Gods, woman! Do you have to rub it so hard? No matter which way you turn it, it's not fitting through!" Emma frustratingly blew a piece of hair away from her nose. A bead of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck. It was too hot in this kitchen.

"If you stop wiggling it, I might be able to get somewhere," she snapped and began to try again.

She poured a cup more of vegetable oil over his skin, coating it in the greasy substance. Then she pulled hard. His hand wasn't even remotely close to slipping through the cuff! It was red and raw from where she'd rubbed it forcefully with soap and attempted to coax the handcuff over his thumb. The cuff only made it to the spot where his wrist ended and his hand begun.

"Tuck your thumb in," she demanded as she twisted the cuff with both hands. She pinned him against the sink and planted a foot on the rim of it to gain more leverage. Her cheeks puffed with the effort.

"I am tucking it in! The only thing you're accomplishing here is pulling my arm out of its socket!"

Oh, would he quit complaining already? It couldn't be that painful. Her fingers raked over the skin of his hand, unable to linger for more than a second due to the dripping, slick vegetable oil. The cuff turned this way and that, up and down, but it was no use.

It wasn't coming off!

Emma sighed and released his hand. She stumbled briefly as her foot came down from the sink and he instinctively wrapped an arm about her waist to keep her from falling backward. If she did, he would have likely followed and landed on top of her—they couldn't have that, could they?

"And another one gone," he muttered, still holding her to his chest.

For a moment, she was stunned into silence by their overwhelming proximity, his arm comfortably slung around her hips. Then she jumped back into reality and squirmed free of his grip.

He washed his hand free of oils, thrusting the handle of the faucet harder than necessary. Another hopeless endeavor, beaten down by the magical handcuffs.

"Now that I'm, shall we say, squeaky-clean…how about we get breakfast started?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow. She didn't know which astounded her more: the silky use of the term squeaky-clean coming out of his mouth or the fact that he lumped them together as if they were a natural married couple. She chose the latter.

"We?"

She motioned a reluctant finger between their bodies. He dipped his head once before whipping out a frying pan and placing it on the stove. He was completely serious. He might as well tie an apron around his waist with the phrase 'Kiss the Cook' plastered over it.

"Yes, _we. _Since this predicament requires us to be in close proximity to one another, you're only option is to help me cook," he declared and winked suggestively down at her.

Emma internally moaned, but there was no room for argument with him. The only person more stubborn than her in this town was Gold. Under his guidance, they went to the fridge and gathered eggs, meat, butter, and milk. From the cupboards came a yellow bottle of pancake mix and a grand bag of chocolate chips.

"Fair warning: I'm not very skilled in cooking," Emma said while they carefully set up the ingredients on the counter. "My forte has always been fast food, salads, microwavable dinners…that sort of thing. I'm not exactly Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker."

Gold examined the ingredients as scrupulously as he would a contract.

"Luckily for you, dearie, I happen to be skilled at cooking. A price that inevitably comes with living alone. Time for another deal. You hand me the ingredients as I need them and I shall handle the cooking." Was there anything this man could not do? _A pawnbroker, a lawyer, a chef…oh, my. _

It wasn't a deal she was inclined to bypass. Her stomach growled, demanding to be fed. She held out her hand to make it official.

"Deal," she agreed. He grasped her hand firmly—using his squeaky-clean one—and shook it to seal the deal.

Before he removed it, he dared to bring her hand to his lips and press a delicate kiss to the back of it, directly over her knuckle. His tongue darted past his lips and traced the curve of her knuckle, sending a deep chill down her spine. Her head felt like a balloon that someone just allowed to float into the air, her mind a blank slate as Gold's warm lips hovered above her skin longer than was appropriate.

Returning to the task at hand, he dropped her hand and fired up the stove. He acted like nothing had just passed between them, but Emma knew it was a moment that was bound to keep her awake tonight. It was only made worse by the ghost of his smile, his eyes seemingly peering into her heart of hearts.

"Tell me, Emma: how do you like your eggs?"

…

They had quickly established a system for cooking, working effortlessly together in synchronized movements.

"Egga," he signaled.

Emma instantly reacted as though he had zapped her with a live wire of electricity, plucking a couple of eggs from the pale carton and depositing them in his waiting palm. Only once did she ever drop an egg onto his shoe, the yolk running mucky and yellow over the expensive material, but that was entirely his fault. He'd distracted her with some odd story about a bowl of soup.

He clearly had butterfingers if he couldn't handle her eggs.

"Butter," he requested, to which she offered him the required dose.

It fascinated her how well they could work together if they put their minds to it. It also gave her an insight into Gold that she had never been privy to before. For one thing, she never saw him eat much at the diner—it was rare if she even caught him ordering a cup of Ruby's coffee.

While she preferred her eggs sunny-side up, he enjoyed his scrambled. Her toast had to be lightly burnt; his was barely crisp and slathered with butter. Her choice of pancake was blueberry; his choice was chocolate-chip pancakes with extra chocolate-chips. Just like Henry.

And, oh, did Gold like butter. The more buttery, the better.

"Breakfast is served," he proudly announced, placing two generous plates of food on the table. It was only after she sat down beside him that she realized he had added an extra piece of toast to his plate and used most of the pancake mix for himself. Selfish imp.

She drowned her blueberry pancakes in syrup and took an experimental bite under his patient stare. The blueberry mixture coated her taste-buds and she chewed silently for a minute. Then she stuffed another piece in her mouth and bent her head back, her eyes closing peacefully, a pleasurable moan rising from her throat.

This…was…heaven.

"I take it you like it," he commented as she practically drooled while wolfing down the rest of the first pancake. He'd barely even started on his plate. She nodded frantically, unable to speak around the mouthful of eggs and bacon that quickly followed. She wiped her mouth free of sticky syrup. "Is it too much to hope for that you'll pay your compliments to the chef with a kiss?"

Emma chucked a blueberry at his face; he caught it expertly in his mouth.

It was an odd thing, watching Gold eat. She assumed the task of eating while handcuffed would be a challenge, but there was something else she learned about Gold that morning. He was ambidextrous. He was capable of using his right hand as effectively as his left. It amazed her, considering the fact that she'd only ever seen him use his left hand with tasks such as writing or handling objects.

"So, are you left-handed or right-handed?" She had assumed he was left-handed, but now she was admittedly confused as he neatly guided food into his mouth with the use of his right hand. He smiled in his mysterious way around his fork.

"Why must I be limited to the use of one hand? Think of the disadvantages that would occur to the majority of people should they lose their strongest hand—not being able to write or interact with the world as they once did. Or what if they ever find themselves helplessly handcuffed to someone? It's situations like these that would have put me at a disadvantage, were I only left-handed. I have mastered both."

He took another bite of his chocolate-chip pancakes.

"What's on the menu for us today? More sword lessons?" Gold observed her carefully, cleverly sensing that something troubling was on her mind. He was right.

"You know how I promised you could decide the dinner tonight? You'll have to wait for tomorrow," she hesitantly informed him.

Instantly, the fork clattered to his plate and his muscles tensed. His eyes darkened with an unspoken warning. Before he could remind her of their deal, she held up a hand.

"We're having dinner with my parents."

…

_**Speaking of dinner…if anyone is interested, I have taken up the liberty of writing a humorous Thanksgiving one-shot based on Charming's comment in Manhattan ("Thank God we don't have Thanksgiving in our land because that dinner would suck!"). I couldn't resist. Someone had to do it, right? **_

_**By the way, the reference to a bowl of soup was inspired by the Paleyfest. For those of you who know what it means. (-; **_

_**As for this story, I must thank the reviewers, of course, for their awesome comments and support. Here's to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, MoonlightWanderer88, Ethlena, PrincessofSea, Black Heart, JayJ1, la-stella-immortale, AngelOfDarkness1605, discotimelord, nuckythompson, cat4444, DragonRose4, sbcarri, FortunesFavour, and SwanQueen4055. **_

_**Thanks, everyone, for reading! **_

.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Guess what, lovelies? It's dinnertime with the Charmings! I must admit, this was incredibly fun to write. I hope everyone enjoys it just as much. **_

"Congratulations, Emma. Thanks to you, my leg is aching."

He grumbled nonstop, purposely rubbing his thigh to make her feel guiltier. It was one thing she had learned about Gold recently: he was capable of playing multiple faces skillfully. Being woeful and in need of sympathy was just one of those faces.

"I'll rub it later," she impatiently promised, if only to get him to stop complaining.

"No, you won't." She rolled her eyes. Well, if he insisted…

"Okay, I won't," she shot back over her shoulder, one step higher on the stairs. He was struggling behind her, his breath coming in heavy pants. Gods, he loathed stairs. Wait, she had been serious about the rubbing? Damn.

"You can rub it if you want to—" She immediately tossed him a guarded look. It simply read _do not go there. _

"Nope, you lost your chance. I offered. You refused. End of story." He groaned even worse and forced his leg to climb another stair. Why didn't anyone think to put an elevator in this building? The view of Emma's backside wasn't worth the suffering he'd endure with a sore leg tomorrow morning. "Get over it."

Oh, if it were that easy.

"I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but I am not the one at fault here. My leg would not be sore if you hadn't insisted on walking the whole bloody way! I suggested we drive…"

Emma abruptly stopped dead center on one of the steps and his nose came very close to planting itself unfavorably in her lower back. She jiggled their infernal chain, pouting.

"If that suggestion didn't work the first time you tried it, why would it work this time? Driving won't work with us handcuffed together. Not unless I'm literally sitting in your lap. And you'd never give me the keys, so that leaves one form of transportation: walking."

Back to climbing the stairs. He huffed with the effort, his cane only offering him limited support. And why did Emma have to pull so hard? He nearly tripped over his feet twice by the way she was dragging him along. Finally, he halted altogether, causing Emma to topple back a stair.

"This is taking too long. Someone needs to install an escalator," he declared. Emma brushed the dirt off her jeans. The way she stared at him dubiously, he might as well have switched his native tongue to Chinese while falling _up _the stairs.

"Right. I'll just dig out my cell phone and call up Escalators-R-Us," she quipped.

No need. He wiggled his spidery-long fingers and tapped his cane once on the step he was currently standing on. Immediately, the stairs lurched beneath their feet. Emma reached out for the railing to steady herself. Then the stairs began to move. Melting one by one into the landing, the stairs carried them swiftly upwards.

"Neat trick," Emma mumbled as they stepped up to the landing. The next flight of stairs did the same thing, rising up in the movements of an escalator. Gold leaned casually against the railing and flexed his fingers. He appeared quite proud of himself.

"One of many. For future reference," he slyly hinted.

Emma snorted at his self-confidence. She was beginning to figure out that this whole laid-back go-with-the-flow attitude was a ruse—he was irritated with the handcuffs in his own way. For one thing, he hated it when someone watched him shave. If not for his zappy little finger, there would be a lot of cuts and scraps of toilet paper on his jaw.

"Ah, we're here," he announced as the last flight of stairs brought them to the topmost level. There was the door, the only green one on the landing, with Snow and Charming on the other side. A knot wrenched tightly in Emma's stomach.

"Alright, just be yourself. Actually, no, I take that back. Don't be yourself at all. You'll probably blow up the place. Just….don't say anything rude, don't boast about how much bigger your estate is, and whatever you do, do not question Charming's sword fighting skills. He'll take offense, challenge you to a duel, and he'll lose. Which means Snow and I won't hear the end of it for a month."

She was rambling, but she could not help it. She released a thin breath to calm her nerves; it failed. Her fingers scrabbled anxiously over her outfit and raked through the strands of her blonde hair. Her eyes landed on that miserable chain.

Oh, what would Charming say to that?

Maybe it wasn't too late for last precautions—she could always drape a sheet over Gold. Charming wouldn't even notice him! Perfect. And if Charming asked, she and Snow would play ignorant and he would assume that Casper was joining them for dinner.

It was flawless. It could work. It could…no, it wouldn't do. Even Charming wasn't as blind to miss the fact that she was suspiciously handcuffed to a ghost. A ghost with a Scottish accent.

Gold interrupted her little freak-out with a pat on the arm. In one swift move, he caught her arm and pulled her firmly against his side. She would have protested, but she realized their conjoined hands were hidden between their bodies. He urged her to revolve a bit inward, to shield it even better.

This might actually work.

"Relax, Emma. You forget—I have a long history with your dear parents, dating back to before you were born. I know them better than you do," he bragged, arching an eyebrow as he observed her from the corner of his eye. It made her bristle, which is exactly the response he wanted. It amused him to no end. "Charming will never defeat me in a duel. I even managed to tap his _charming _little behind with my sword once. Quite slow, that one."

Emma blanched. From the gleam in his brown eyes, kindling brilliantly as a fire, he was being serious. She shuddered internally. _Just the type of image I want stuck in my head when we're about to have dinner with my parents. Bad mental image, bad mental image! _

And then Gold raised his fist, allowing it to hover in front of the door for a second. He glanced at her, a meaningful pause meant to inquire whether she truly wished to go through with this. There was no choice; she dipped her head approvingly.

His knuckles rapped sharply against the painted wood. Emma gulped nervously, a cold sweat breaking out over her forehead. No turning back now.

The door swung open before Gold even lowered his hand. Snow must have been waiting by the door, to ensure that Charming would not answer it. The first thing her mother did was search for the handcuffs. Gold allowed her a brief glimpse.

"You weren't kidding," she sighed in astonishment, her cheeks flushing with a deeper shade of pink.

Emma hung her head. Did her mother think she was on _Candid Camera: Storybrooke Version?_ Playing an early April Fools' joke? _That's right, Mom. I'm handcuffed to Gold. Then we're getting hitched, having a marvelous honeymoon in Hawaii, and popping out a few impish kids. Oh, and one more thing…April Fools! _

She'd be banned from her precious Bug for a straight month.

"Hey, Emma," Henry brightly called out as he joined Snow's side. His eyebrows knitted with confusion as he spotted the handcuffs. "Mr. Gold, I thought you had a key in your shop."

Snow looked to Emma for an explanation.

"We…haven't exactly…found it yet. Gold's shop is very crowded and very messy," she replied off the top of her head. It wasn't exactly a lie—that shop of his would put hoarders across America to shame. That wasn't even to mention the state of his living room. Henry nodded in understanding, while Gold tossed her a perturbed look.

Someone was offended by her blunt honesty. It was like trying to inform a drunk that he was indeed drunk.

"So, you have a key?" Snow's pure green eyes burned into Emma's in the way only a mother's could.

She was reminded of their early morning phone-text conversation. That inquiring tone of Snow's implied that it was out of Emma's free will to be lying in Gold's bed that morning.

She returned her mother's solid stare, unblinking. She even tacked on a hint of an evil eye for good measure. _We'll discuss it later, _she tried to project. She didn't know if Snow clearly received the message, but she stepped aside and held the door wide for them to pass.

"Come in," she invited. Henry went off to finish setting the table for dinner while Snow closed the door behind Emma and Gold. "I would offer to take your jackets, but I have no idea how you'd take them off."

Emma nudged her elbow into Gold's side the moment she sensed his smirk. Snow's eyes widened. She probably never saw someone attack Rumpelstiltskin…and get away with it. Emma could only wish. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be some form of punishment once they were alone. Something along the lines of another strawberry-scented shower, or possibly re-arranging his walk-in closet of designer suits and ties.

"Trust me; you don't want to know."

From the way Snow curled her arms around herself in protection, she had a fairly good idea. Feet thundered on the stairs and suddenly Charming was standing in front of them.

"Emma," he fondly greeted and applied a fatherly kiss to her forehead.

Immediately, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She had yet to adjust to the over-affection. His eyes dimmed with disappointment for a moment. If he was worried about the fact that she failed to come home last night, he didn't show it. Then he spotted Gold. Raised chin, puffed-out chest, Charming took his role as valiant prince seriously.

"I don't remember sending you a dinner invitation."

Snow whipped around and slapped a palm against his chest reprovingly. Emma's ears were ringing with the sound of a ticking bomb, ticking…ticking…

"It's two for one, dearie. I'm simply here by association," Gold replied smoothly, bringing his body an inch closer to Emma.

She knew he was attempting to shield the handcuffs from view, but to Charming it would appear as a token of intimacy. His ocean-blue eyes boggled out of his head.

"Are you….Emma, is he…that cane…why are you standing so close to my daughter?" Charming rushed forward and latched onto Emma's arms to steer her away. She tried not to move, her heels digging into the floorboards, but it was already too late. One inch was all it took. "What…the…hell?"

There was no use hiding it now; Charming had seen the handcuffs with perfect clarity. He stared directly at them, his body frozen in place like a formidable statue. The air was too heavy, too thick, choking off Emma's ability to breathe.

"Why is my daughter handcuffed to Rumpelstiltskin?"

She supposed she should be grateful Charming didn't brand Rumpelstiltskin a beast. It was too early in the evening for sword fighting and she didn't feel like being thrown in front of Gold like a shield.

Charming gaped incredulously at the cuffs, even stretched a finger out to test whether they were real. A shiver traveled through his body from the initial coldness of the metal. Charming stared at his finger as though he expected it to transform miraculously into a gummy worm.

"Snow, please tell me you put something in my drink. I must be hallucinating."

"Nope, but I'll be sure to add a slosh of alcohol to the next cup," she murmured under her breath. She patted Charming's shoulder—whether to comfort him through his mind-numbing realization or to silently instruct him not to do anything stupid, Emma didn't know.

"For the record, this is Henry's fault," she intercepted, turning her displeased gaze on Henry over her parents' shoulders. Everyone, especially Charming, turned to demand Henry's input on this situation. The kid opened his mouth to deny it, but thought better of it.

"Hey, you two agreed to it," he passed it off with a carefree shrug. Emma's eyes widened in disbelief. It wasn't like she knew beforehand what the kid was planning to do! If she did, she obviously would have declined. Or she liked to think she would.

A wave of heat rose to her neck as Charming switched his attention back to her.

"How exactly do you free yourself from the handcuffs?"

Emma kept her lips firmly sealed. There was no way she was divulging that awkward information to her father. The whole town would hear his screams of agony. She only hoped his new sword wasn't anywhere within reach or Gold might become the new Captain Hook.

"Oh, it takes a very special key to unlock these cuffs," Gold spoke up, his brogue thickening with his gleeful mockery. Emma's eyes soared open wide with dread. Oh, God, no. "It's a bit…tricky. You have to insert it just right, at the proper moment. Perhaps twist it a little here and there. It's an ancient one, too, so naturally there are times it may get stuck, in which case you have to push it harder—"

Emma took her fist and launched it into the small of Gold's suited back. The air whooshed from his lungs and he went tumbling forward, inevitably taking her with him. If it hadn't been for the support of his cane, she would have ended up sprawled over him on the ground. He rubbed his back and narrowed his eyes at her.

_Enough, _she commanded silently with a fierce glare of her own. She would bet her pathetic life savings that Elmo would look positively white in hue compared to her fiery complexion. Gold continued rubbing the spot she had brutally attacked, but seemed to drop the matter.

Charming, however, was oblivious as ever.

"Then I suggest you find this ancient key, insert it, and get my daughter out of those handcuffs," he roared.

Was there any chance the floor would split apart and swallow her whole? She was pretty sure Charming was unaware of the fact that he had willingly given Gold his fatherly blessing to seduce his daughter.

"I second that statement," Snow chimed in agreeably.

Now it was Gold's turn to nudge Emma in the ribs suggestively. She didn't even need to observe his facial expression to know he was proudly sporting a massive grin. She knew what he was thinking: _You, me…what's stopping us now, sweetie? _

"I have an idea. Let's eat dinner. My stomach is growling," Emma hastily changed the subject, urging her parents toward the table. Under their cautious stares, her eyes flickered to Henry. _We'll discuss this when Henry's not in the room, _she conveyed to Snow and Charming, praying they got the gist of the message.

"Looks like you and I shall be sitting together," Gold mused in his delightful way, pulling a chair out for her to sit.

Always the impeccable gentleman—or was it a show for her parents? Honestly, the guy acted like he was a candidate for her future partner. She sank wordlessly into the chair, with Gold occupying the one beside her. It was the last one at the table, farthest away from Charming and Snow.

"Yeah, it was either that or the two of us would be halfway stretched across the table."

She regretted the words the minute they were out, only because of the intense, searing mental image scorching her brain. She hoped Snow was in the habit of serving ice water.

….

Dinner was filled to the brim with suffocating tension. Emma was sure her first real dinner with her parents hadn't been this tense. And that dinner had consisted entirely of grilling her about her childhood growing up, favorite teachers, grades, crushes, and embarrassing memories they were purposely planning to make. They already had their ideal Christmas photos picked out. Charming would be wearing the Santa hat and fake snowy beard.

But this…this was torture in its own right.

Sitting on her right, Gold was the farthest from her parents that he could possibly be. Only Henry occupied the seat on the edge near his side, chatting his ear off about how Red bought out all of Sneezy's SweetHearts and then waved a pink one in his face at check-out. It had read _IOU. _That guy was getting breakfast on the house for a week.

That didn't even compare to the fiasco of a story when Regina tried to order a coffee in the diner with Red as her waitress. One thing was for certain: Regina would never eat at the diner again.

Her parents, on the other hand, were uncharacteristically quiet on the other end of the table. Charming repeatedly stabbed his meat with his fork. She was surprised he didn't pierce his tongue every time he shoved a piece in his mouth. Snow took small bites and kept trying to engage her daughter and Gold in friendly conversation, if only to be polite as a host.

"So, Rumpelstiltskin, what will you be doing on Valentine's Day?"

Of all the questions her mother had the nerve to ask. Emma sorely swallowed the lump of meat in her throat, water rising under her eyelids. _If these cuffs don't come off soon? Me, _she thought, a slippery stone of warmth sliding into her belly. _Stab_—her fork plunged into a carrot.

"Valentine's Day…hasn't exactly been my forte," Gold admitted reluctantly. His fingers curled into his palm. "I never had a wife to dote on under the curse. And I've no one special to share it with at the moment."

Emma half-expected him to be laying on the bedroom eyes extra thick, but he stared forlornly at the center of his plate. Genuine despair warped his normally controlled features, though he fought to restrain it under the murky surface of his mask. Maybe he was a lonely man, after all.

"Funny. That's not the story I heard last year. You spent it with the florist in the cabin in the woods, isn't that right?" Charming piped up from his end of the table. Gold's fork grated against his plate, a terrible screech.

"And you were hopelessly trying to impress your beloved wife by handing her the wrong card. Isn't that right…dearie?"

The barb hit its intended mark. Charming fumed in silence. The reminder of his clumsy, clueless counterpart would be hanging over his head until the day he died, if Rumpelstiltskin had anything to say about it.

"Fear not, Snow. I'll assist him with picking out the next one," Gold said. To Emma's horror, he followed that promise up with a sensual wink toward her mother. Snow grew pink in the cheeks, her eyelashes fluttering a million miles a second.

A whirlwind of an emotion fueled the fire in Emma's veins, but she was helpless to name it. Embarrassment? Maybe—after all, the guy was winking at her mother! But it was something more…intricate and consuming than simple humility. Something like…

Jealousy.

Yes, that was precisely it. She was the one bound to him, not her mother. It wasn't exactly charming to have him entice her, sleep in the same bed with her, stroking her hair in the morning, and then turning around and—

Wait. He was doing this on purpose, wasn't he? Trying to gauge her reaction? Unearth any true feelings she'd been keeping secret and hidden away? Yes, a conniving plan like this one sounded right up his alley.

She struggled not to meet his gaze, not to convey everything she'd just been experiencing in her mind.

"Don't worry, Mr. Gold. Maybe my mom could spend Valentine's Day with you," Henry suggested with a bright, oblivious smile.

The whole table fell silent as the adults processed that possibility. Even Gold was speechless, his mouth opening and closing without any clever quips or words to express his immediate astonishment. His eyes connected with Emma's and it was like a shock of electricity shot through the length of her body.

"Only time will tell, Henry," Gold murmured, dropping his eyes to his plate once more. He was completely ignorant of the way Charming's knuckles cracked as his fingers clenched the fork in his fist, the tines pointed in Gold's direction.

Under the table, Gold's shoe nudged against Emma's boot. Oh, so he wanted to play footsies now, did he? Only once did she allow her boot to nudge his shoe in return and the corners of his lips started to lift. Then, she stomped down on his foot. His eyes bulged and he released a groan of discomfort.

"Oh," he moaned loudly, bending forward against the edge of the table. His foot slid out from under the weight of her boot, tapping once or twice against the floorboards to ease away the pain. Every pair of eyes snapped in his direction. "Oh….Oh, Emma…be a dear and…pass the bread and butter."

_Nice save, Gold, _she thought, but reached for the plate of bread to diffuse the awkwardness.

Too bad Charming's fatherly behavior was in full-force that night. His hand latched onto the plate of bread at the same moment that Gold's did. Half his body leaned over the table, but he refused to let Gold win.

"I'm craving bread and butter as well. Give it here," he demanded Gold, tugging the plate back toward his end. Both of Gold's hands gripped the plate, with Emma's arm waving in the air with every pull. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. This wasn't going to end well.

"You can have all the bread you want…after I have my share," Gold retorted. _Yank, _went the plate.

Charming almost landed in his food. Snow whipped her hands away as his leg crawled on top of the table and knocked her plate aside. Emma would have dropped her head to the table…if she didn't think her father would give her a concussion.

"I happen to be the man of this house. And I want the bread," Charming argued. _Yank. _

"Oh, _you're _the man of this house? That's news to me. Here I figured Henry won that title," Gold remarked. Henry couldn't help showing off his pride of being complimented as the man of the house, even if his grandfather was staining his shirt with peas and steak sauce.

_Yank. Yank. Yank. _

It was a tense tug-of-war that seemed almost unwinnable. Snow's mouth hung open in disbelief, a hand pressed to the hollow of her throat. Emma gawked in bemusement even as her body shifted side to side with the force of their relentless tugging. And then it happened.

The next time Gold wrenched the plate toward his end of the table, he dug his heels into the ground and pulled just a little too hard. The plate soared out of Charming's hands, but it didn't stop in Gold's possession, either. It flung above their heads and smashed into millions of pieces on the ground, the slices of bread scattering among the shards.

But even that wasn't as startling as the way Emma's body suddenly left her chair as Gold rocketed backward in his own seat.

One moment her butt had been seated firmly on her chair, watching the latest Storybrooke tennis game, and the next second she had tumbled into Gold's lap. His hands caught her by her hips, stopping her before she collapsed against his chest. For an infinite moment, the two of them stayed there with their legs confusingly entangled and his fingers holding her by the hips. She could smell his cologne wafting up to her nostrils, her legs straddled one of his thighs, their faces were inches apart with their breath humid on each other's skin.

It was intoxicating. More so than the strongest liquor served at the diner.

Her hand slid along the inside of his suit, down his chest to the spot where his heart pounded under the silky fabric of his dress shirt. Two of his fingers lightly clung to her wrist, encouraging her hand to stay where it was. A strand of his dusty brown hair draped over his eyes and she longed to brush it away.

Reality snapped back into focus like a rubber band and she quickly returned to her proper seat. Charming wiped off splatters of carrots off his shirt, but it would take more than one washing to remove those stains. Emma whistled through her lips, coaxing away the excitement in her nerves.

Henry stifled a giggle after that ridiculous scene. Snow wove her hands together anxiously. She cleared her throat, a hesitant _hem-hem _that sounded like a roll of thunder amidst the unbearable silence in the room.

"Who wants dessert?"

…

"Henry's asleep," Snow whispered as she crept from Emma's bedroom.

She certainly wasn't using it—if she and Gold slept here for the night, Charming would probably perform nightly rounds with his sword drawn to make sure they weren't dozing in each other's arms. He would most likely throw a bucket of ice cold water over their heads.

Unbelievably, Gold's bed was the more appealing choice tonight.

"Is he really asleep or is he doing that thing where he pretends to snore so that he can overhear our conversation?"

Just because Emma was new at parenting did not mean she was innocent to childish tricks. Snow checked over her shoulder uncertainly. It was Charming who edged Emma's door open and stuck his head in.

"Hey, Henry! Good news! We figured out a way to get back to the Enchanted Forest! You'll be riding horses and slaying dragons by tomorrow! Yay!" Silence persisted. Charming gently closed the bedroom door, apparently satisfied. "Yeah, Henry's asleep."

"Granny's special tea usually does the trick," Snow commented.

Emma didn't think it would be clever to ask what ingredients Granny included in her special tea. Who knew what that old woman was capable of? Leroy even had a bet going about Granny outliving them all.

The four of them miserably gathered around the kitchen table to continue their earlier conversation.

Snow lightly drummed her nails nervously on the countertop, her green eyes flickering from one person to the next in a clockwise fashion. Gold traced the intricately designed golden head of his cane, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Charming hunched forward in his seat, the gun in his hip-holster catching Emma's attention. His hand kept clenching and unclenching, hovering inches above the weapon as if he were seriously considering shooting Gold.

Would bullets even kill the Dark One?

"Emma, you weren't wearing that leather jacket yesterday," Snow pointed out, directing the spotlight to her daughter's unfamiliar attire. Great way to start the conversation. Anxiety passed swiftly over Gold's forehead. Both of them anticipated the question that was teasing Snow's mind. "Come to think of it, I don't recall you owning a white leather jacket. How exactly did you two manage to change clothes when you're handcuffed together?"

_Whoop, there it is, _Emma mentally grumbled. Snow gestured a finger between Gold and Emma, appearing terribly confused.

Charming, however, had grown rigid in his seat, his expression darkening like a black thunderhead as he waited for an answer. With Emma's luck, her father assumed she and Gold ripped each other's clothes off last night. That might have been logical, but as for his explanation about getting their clothes back on…

Emma decided not to ask.

Ever so skillful at wordplay, Gold summed it up in a single word.

"Magic," he rolled the two syllables leisurely, raising a single finger.

There he was, doing that eccentric arm flourish again. It only reminded her parents about the type of man she was handcuffed to. She prodded her boot against his shoe under the table. _What did I say about not being yourself? Why do you never listen to me? _

It was time to take matters into her own hands.

"See…here's the thing. These aren't ordinary handcuffs with an ordinary key. These are…magic handcuffs," she carefully explained, all the while understanding just how ridiculous it sounded. She flapped her arm, the chain jingling for emphasis.

Snow and Charming must have stared blankly for an hour. It was not computing in their minds. _Yeah, I know, _Emma reflected as she bit her bottom lip. _The same thing happened to me, too. It's not even close to the juicy part yet. These things would give a whole new meaning to _50 Shades of Grey.

Snow blinked, once, twice. Charming slowly settled back in his chair, pondering away. A goofy grin threatened to slide over his face. He must have thought Emma was joking.

"Good one, Emma. Who's ever heard of magic handcuffs? Next you'll be telling me you planted a beanstalk in our living room," he guffawed. Gold directed a finger toward him and Charming's laughter ceased abruptly. That thing was ten time more powerful than any gun in the world. Gold practically had ten mini-weapons attached to his hands.

"Funny you should mention that particular tale. Considering it was your fake father King Oh-What's-His-Name who attained these prized handcuffs as a present for that arrogant twin of yours. I'm sure it would have charmed his voluptuous lover, had she lived."

The humor in Charming's face dissipated, replaced with something inches shy of disgust. Snow came to life, edging forward in her chair. Her hands gripped the edges of her seat, as though she were afraid the thing was going to explode underneath the tension building inside the room.

"Emma, surely you mean the cheap kind of handcuffs from a magic shop? In that case, it shouldn't be that hard to get them off. Maybe a secret switch or—"

Emma banged her head against the kitchen table. Failure to compute. She thought she heard Gold mutter something about 'two idiots.'

"No. I mean, _magic handcuffs. _As in your world. As in…fairy dust and magic wands and being able to fly in midair and spinning straw into gold for no apparent reason. No offense," she tossed to Gold. He held up a calm hand.

"None taken. It's an acquired skill. Extremely hard work, yet completely beneficial. Perhaps I could teach you sometime. You, me, sitting at the wheel…spinning…"

There should be a _nudge, nudge, wink, wink _added in there somewhere. Maybe Gold was doing it in his head. It didn't help that she envisioned it flawlessly: perched on a stool in his basement, Gold straddling her hips from behind, the straw threading through her fingers, his hands guiding her arms…his breath in her ear…

She swallowed the thick boulder forming in her throat while a cord of intense warmth stretched from her toes to her belly. Strung tight as piano wire, making her body squirm in the wooden chair. Meanwhile, Charming was busy offering Gold a murderous glare in response to his seductive invitation.

"The only wheel that should be spinning, Rumpelstiltskin, is the one in your mind as you strive to figure out a way to free my daughter," he boldly retorted in his fatherly manner.

Gold's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch—he never did appreciate being given orders, especially from royals. Emma wondered where she—a royal princess by birth—stood on his spectrum. Was she the only exception? Or was his pride too great even for her?

"Oh, I know exactly how to free your daughter, Charmless," Gold dared to argue. The prince's head snapped back with the force of a slap across the jaw. Emma closed her eyes and instinctively grasped Gold's thigh under the table. _Please, no. _"There are only three ways."

He held up three exquisite digits, wiggling them emphatically. His thumb brushed along Emma's hand under the table and she realized she was still holding onto him pleadingly. Her body numbed in her seat. This was the part she dreaded.

Except Gold chose not to continue.

His hand gently took Emma's hand into his own and squeezed reassuringly. It didn't stop her heart from hammering in her chest. Another squeeze, his thumb pressing into her palm. _Be still, _he commanded, ushering her into security. He was fighting for control and he was winning.

"Well? What are the three options?" Charming huffed, overly annoyed.

Emma sensed he wanted nothing more than Gold out of their apartment. The only problem was: wherever Gold went, his daughter inevitably followed behind for the time being. For him, it was a lose-lose situation.

Gold leaned back in his chair, perfectly relaxed, contemplating the best way in which to break the news. Both Snow and Emma appeared worried of the outcome—Snow because she rightly feared the price for Emma's freedom, and Emma because she already knew the height of the stakes and anticipated her parents' lack of support.

That gun wasn't looking too friendly.

"Three ways," Gold repeated, intentionally stalling. Charming folded his arms over his broad chest impatiently. "One: either Emma or I cut off our hands. Two: I make love to your daughter and three: one or both of us shall die. Think of it like a modern-day _Romeo and Juliet. _Star-crossed lovers fated to be torn apart through death. So, which option do you prefer?"

That second one slithered so hastily from Gold's lips, it may have been conjoined with the third option entirely. Obviously, he was hoping they weren't keen enough to latch onto it. Judging from Snow's dramatically raised eyebrows and Charming's resemblance to Bambi's mother upon being shot, the opposite had occurred.

"What was that…you said?"

Snow could barely sound the words out. Was she even breathing? Even Frosty wasn't that pale in color. Charming gripped the edge of the table with all his might until it groaned from the pressure. Gold touched a finger to his chin, feigning ignorance.

"Which one? The fact that we should cut our hands off?" Not a welcoming mental image.

"After that," Charming demanded. Gold's brows knitted together.

"One of us dying? I'm sure Emma still has that chainsaw," he remarked.

As a matter of fact, she had returned to Regina's yard to retrieve the chainsaw after chopping off a limb from her precious apple tree. It technically belonged to Granny, but she had no doubt the woman would gladly lend it over if she mentioned she'd be chasing Gold with it.

Scary thought. Granny's ownership of a chainsaw, not the deadly pursuit.

"No, before that. Rumpelstiltskin," Snow snapped, losing her patience.

Emma avoided their gaze, staring down at a crooked crack in the kitchen table. Gold made an exaggerated 'O' with his lips. Their hands moved under the table; she shivered as the back of his hand traced her cheek.

"Oh, you meant the part where I make sweet love to your daughter," he said, his hand lingering against her chin. A tingling sensation spiraled from the spot where his fingers drifted over her skin. Emma deliberately shifted her head out of his palm, but it was too late to fix the situation.

The damage had been done, the match struck to the stick of dynamite.

"Absolutely not," Charming bellowed, shooting up from his chair.

The chair knocked backwards, but the crash was drowned out by the sudden thunder of Charming's hands hitting the surface of the table. He looked like he was going to crawl over the table and strangle the life out of Gold. Snow abruptly jumped from her own chair and put restraining hands on Charming's shoulders.

"Over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged," Gold taunted.

Emma shot him a deadly look, but the dominoes kept on falling. Charming lunged away from the table, out of Snow's comforting hold, and strode for the stairs. At first, Emma frowned with concern, thinking her father was prepared to run upstairs and throw a temper tantrum. Then she noticed how he ducked behind the stairs and retrieved something.

His sword.

"Charming, no," Snow objected, pointing at the sword like a mother telling her child to knock off their attitude.

Charming wielded the sword the same way a knight would upon entering a deathly battle with a dragon. Or, in this case, an elusive imp. He ignored Snow, darting around her lithe body in favor of aiming for Gold.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Emma exclaimed in unadulterated astonishment, leaping up from her chair. Gold lumbered a step beside her, his chair joining Charming's on the floor. He didn't look that disturbed about any upcoming fight, though. He was actually _smirking. _

And Charming was holding that sword in front of him, ready to strike.

"I'm choosing option one: cutting off his hand," the prince stated. Emma didn't need to be a mind reader to realize that Charming wouldn't be disappointed if the blade missed and drove through Gold's heart as well. His intentions to protect her overrode his conscience.

Snow fought to reach the sword and rip it from her husband's hands, but Charming readily dodged. Gold made no move to defend himself or retreat, unless that cane would be used for more than walking in the next two seconds. The sword's blade gleamed under the ceiling fan's dim light, the point sharp and capable of severing flesh as easily as a fluffy pillow.

He drew the weapon above his head, blue eyes locked on the formidable handcuffs shared between Emma and Gold. In one forceful thrust, the sword came rushing down through the air—

"Stop!"

Before Emma even understood what she was doing, her feet left the ground and she leapt in front of Gold's body. Her arms outstretched to block any incoming damage. The sword halted in mid-swing, a foot or so from its intended target, which was now shielded by Emma. She faced Gold, her back to the threat of the sword, but she could see Charming stall over her shoulder.

"Emma, move out of the way. I'm doing this to protect you," he argued, the sword lingering in the air.

Her breath quickened as she met Gold's brown eyes. His lips were slightly parted, his expression perplexed in the shadow of her kindness. Her bound hand sought out his handcuffed one, squeezing it as tenderly as he had done with hers. _I won't stand by and let this happen. I promise. _

"This isn't the way to resolve this problem," she tossed over her shoulder, her disappointment crystal clear.

"And being seduced by this beast is the way? You're willing to sacrifice yourself to _him?"_

Emma half-whirled, just enough to face off against her father. She did not leave Gold vulnerable to the threat of the sword; she extended her free arm across his chest, grasping his shoulder, effectively blocking him from Charming. Gold stiffened under her touch, but moved into the arc of her arms.

"First of all, _Prince Charming, _he is not a beast. He is a human being," she argued bitingly. Charming opened his mouth to protest, but she superseded him quickly. "Second of all, I can't believe this is something you would stand for. What do you think Henry would say if he realized you were about to cut off someone's hand? Good can't win this way."

The sword faltered half an inch. She was getting through to him. Charming's face contorted with grief—he didn't approve of what he was doing, either. It clearly defied his morality, but it was a measure he deemed necessary in the long run.

"Emma, I'm only trying to protect you…the way I never could before."

A hammer of dull emotion pounded against Emma's heart. Snow's eyes gleamed, tears pricking her eyelids. Charming was hoping she would move aside so he could fulfill his duty of protection.

But she never moved.

Snow edged toward Charming's side and managed to lay a hand atop his clenched fist.

"Charming, let go of the sword," she instructed, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. The blade began to tremble as Charming debated between letting go and finishing what he started. Wrestling the sword from his grip, the threat vanquished under Snow's control.

Charming's crystal blue eyes welled up with disbelief and lack of understanding as Emma breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over.

It was only when she glanced down at their imprisoned hands that she realized their fingers were still entwined together, his forefinger tracing the length of hers. She gradually slipped her hand apart from his, though the sensation of his warm grip lingered on her skin.

"Thank you," Gold whispered, though his lips barely moved. Then his eyes turned dark, two orbs of frozen earth, retaining that cruel, unforgiving glint that she'd only ever witnessed when he was in the midst of beating Moe French to a pulp with his cane. She applied pressure to the crook of his elbow: _don't do anything you'll regret. _

But that was the pivotal question. Would he regret it?

"I suppose I've overstayed my welcome," he muttered. Anger flashed across Charming's face. His gaze traveled to Emma's hand, still resting on Gold's arm. She slowly removed it, before that became another nail in the coffin.

"You can't overstay the welcome you never had," he snapped back. Gold's hand tightened over his cane, his jaw fixing with irritation. There was nothing left to be said; the lines were drawn. And Emma was stuck in the middle.

"It's time you and I ventured home, Emma," Gold boldly declared. He simply couldn't resist pushing Charming's buttons one last time. Gold started for the door and Emma was too worn to fight off the inevitable.

"We'll find a way," she vowed to her parents. Hope shined brilliantly in Snow's green eyes, but Charming obviously had his doubts. He shook his head pitifully, probably wondering if Emma would come home the next night without the cuffs.

There was nothing to help it, except a promise Emma wasn't entirely sure she could keep.

So, she followed Gold out the door with her parents' concerned stares burning fiercely into her retreating back. She went with him back to his pink house. Back to his bed.

…..

"That was eventful," Emma sarcastically commented as she once again climbed into bed with Gold. She drew the majority of the blanket over her body while he meticulously fluffed his pillows. Then he snatched the blanket back over to his side, his eyes glowing in the moonlight as he silently dared her to fight him for it.

"I think your parents like me," he replied wryly, the corners of his lips lifting.

Emma gave him an exasperated look over her shoulder. That wasn't quite the translation she made from Charming waving his sword around like a maniac. How exactly did they treat him in the Enchanted Forest? Did they chase him with a burning broom every time he popped into their room?

"So, I suppose if Charming really cuts your hand off, it means he's giving you his blessing for my hand in marriage?"

She buried her face in her pillow, trying hard not to imagine that scenario. A strange sensation trickled down her back, making her shiver. It felt like Gold had traced a finger down the curve of her spine. When she peered over her shoulder at him, he merely stared back innocently with his free hand comfortably situated behind his head.

That man was always up to no-good. This was what she got for trying to sleep on her side—besides discomfort in her chained hand.

Tiredly, she released the tension in her arm by rolling onto her back. Her shoulder faintly brushed Gold's. She patted down the sheets to form that valley between their bodies. Why did she even bother? If she subconsciously desired to snuggle on Gold's chest, there was no stopping it. She'd probably wake up to find herself in the same position she was this morning. And liking it.

_Why fight it? What am I trying to prove? _

Maybe she was trying to prove that she was one of the few in this town who were immune to Gold's gentlemanly charm and charisma.

"What else can we do? It isn't like there's a handbook in the library we can consult," she pointed out. If only. They could always check under the 'How-To' section, just in case. _How to Escape an Awkwardly Intimate Situation with Handcuffs. Magical Handcuff Etiquette 101. _

"Perhaps…" Gold softly mused, mostly to himself.

Emma suddenly had a thirst to know what was happening in his head. He was the type of guy who held all cards close to the chest, regardless of whether they were aces. Lines etched over his brow and creased the corners of his eyes as he succumbed to deep thought. Time ticked by in the darkness—_tick, tick, tick…_

"Perhaps what?" Screw the valley; Emma scooted closer in her impatience. A flash of life returned to Gold's chocolate-brown eyes, seeking her out. A single elegant finger rose to her pink lips, tickling her skin.

"Perhaps…there is someone that will provide us a bit of help," he hinted. He dropped his finger to the sheets, but Emma didn't even notice it. Her attention was brutally snagged. A flailing fish on a silver hook while Gold reeled in the line.

"_Who?" _He smiled upon her eagerness. His breathing slowed as tendrils of sleep invaded his consciousness.

"A friend," he replied dreamily, his chest rising and falling swiftly. "I believe you're familiar with him. His name is Jefferson."

….

_**Of course, I had to add Jefferson in here somewhere. He happens to be one of my favorite characters and he is so much fun to write. Expect to see our favorite hatter next chapter! **_

_**For now, I must thank all those that reviewed recently. I'm glad many people are enjoying this story! A huge thank-you to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Lyn Harkeran, la-stella-immortale, Shizuku Tsukishima749, Rumpelfan, discotimelord, AngelOfDarkness1605, nuckythompson, cat4444, Rayvah, BundyShoes, FortunesFavour, Musicalfan2012, DragonRose4, SirenFire, TeamTHEFT, Moonlight-Wanderer88, Black Heart, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, SwanQueen4055, and the anonymous Guests. **_

_**Phew—gotta catch my breath. Seriously, I appreciate every word I received in my inbox. Anyone here catch the latest episode of Once? **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: The only thing I can say beforehand about this chapter is that it is hot, hot, hot. (-; I hope everyone enjoys the Golden Swan moments in this chapter. **_

_Emma, if you're listening to this, call me back as soon as possible. I'm giving you five minutes. _Beep.

_Emma, why aren't you answering any of my calls? You do have both hands, right? Or did you give in and kill him? Sometimes, good people need to make difficult decisions. It was in the kitchen with the candlestick, wasn't it? _Beep.

_Emma, I am only going to say this once and I can't even believe I am saying it…but those handcuffs better still be on your wrist next time I see you. Or else that man better have a hook or have his face on a missing poster in the Town Square. _Beep. Beep. Beep.

Her father wouldn't quit blowing up her phone with his worried messages. And those were just from the past two minutes. Grumbling, she pocketed the phone after silencing it. She would deal with Charming's concerns later.

Emma was sweating by the time Gold rang Jefferson's doorbell. She liked to think it was because of the charming stroll up the hill with Gold and not because she was dreading this "friendly" visit.

The last time she saw the hatter, he was kicked out of a window by her mother after holding them hostage throughout the night. Something warned her that he would not welcome her with a hug and kiss to the cheek.

She tapped her foot on the porch in her growing impatience. What was taking him so long? Was he debating which cravat fit his mood today?

"Ah, I see he stopped painting the roses," Gold mused, plucking a blossomed white rose from the massive rosebush lining the edge of the porch. Emma gazed down at it as it seemed to spread its petals within the cup of Gold's palm. Sliding his fingers over the length of the silky stem, he graciously offered it to her. "A beautiful rose for an equally beautiful woman."

A pink hue flushed her cheeks in response to his unexpected compliment. Emma glanced between the delicate rose and the startling depths of Gold's glistening brown eyes. She reached out and accepted the flower.

For a brief moment, as her fingers closed around the stem, the tips of their fingers touched. An electric thrill rushed through her body from the faint contact. From the way Gold's eyebrows shot up, he felt the same odd sensation.

"Thank you," she whispered, cradling the rose beneath her chin. She inhaled it sweet scent with fondness. Gold smiled with something akin to relief as he observed the way her fingertips leisurely explored the rose, savoring the silkiness of each pale petal.

No one had ever given her a rose before.

The next time she looked up, she noticed Gold had taken a step closer. Never before had she witnessed such longing and vulnerability engraved in his eyes as he continued to loom forward. She didn't make a move to stop him.

His free hand covered her fingers around the rose's stem. It was impossible to tear her gaze from Gold's sharp-edged face as he gently used the rose to reel her in, their bodies coming within inches of each other. She tilted her head back; his hand moved from the rose to her exposed throat, brushing away a curtain of golden hair over her shoulder.

She knew what was coming next. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her toes tingled in the casing of her boots, everything in the background melted away like paint dripping off a canvas. Her eyes flew to Gold's mouth.

He was going to kiss her. Even more astonishing to behold: she was going to let him.

Ever so slowly, Gold dipped his head down, as if experimenting to see where she would draw the line. His confidence rose when he reached as far as her jaw. His breath warmed her skin, first directly under her jaw, then grazing her chin, up to her poised lips. His mouth hovered above hers for a moment, his eyes boring into hers as though asking her permission.

He drew closer, separated from her by a mere inch….half an inch…

Suddenly, the front door of the mansion swung inward. Emma leapt away from Gold, as much as the chain would allow. There stood Jefferson, dressed as fashionably as ever in eccentric attire with a black and silver-threaded cravat wrapping his throat. She shuddered upon recalling what lay under that cloth.

"Am I interrupting something?" The hatter glanced between Emma and Gold suspiciously, oozing smugness. He spotted the white rose that Emma still held tight to her chest. "I charge a dollar a flower. That'll be one less dollar you owe me for the broken window."

Emma narrowed her eyelids threateningly, which caused Jefferson to take a cautious step back into the security of his mansion.

"The only reason my mother sent you hurtling through that window was because you were holding us hostage, you arrogant lunatic," she spat coldly. This seemed to be news for Gold. By the regret on his face, he wished he had been there for that show of Snow's badassery.

Jefferson merely chuckled.

"Then what brings you back? Fancy one of my hats?"

A small smirk was all that was needed to trigger Gold's reign. He stepped toward Jefferson with an index finger raised. It might as well have been a gun for the instant draining of color in Jefferson's face.

"We need your help," he stated briskly, motioning between his chest and Emma's. He held up his cuffed hand in explanation. Jefferson took one look at their predicament and whistled lowly in surprise.

"It's been a while since I last heard those words. You need my help? You're asking me to lend my services in aiding you out of this awkward situation? A convenient solution to your problem?"

He seemed to perceive the gist of their request. Emma hung her head in annoyance, glaring a hole into the carpet at Jefferson's feet. Why did he have to make everything complicated? Why couldn't he cooperate for once in his life?

"I'm guessing I am one of your last resorts, considered purely out of desperation. Is this how you feel all the time when you pop up out of thin air and unravel your contracts rudely in your customer's face? So self-important and victorious…Let me just take a moment to enjoy this—"

"Jefferson," Emma snapped, batting the rose his way. Listening to his nonsense was proving to be an effective way to waste their time. Jefferson held his palms up in surrender.

"Easy, Emma. No need to prick my skin with one of those thorns. Feisty one, isn't she?" The hatter suggestively winked at Gold, who did not appear to be in the mood for Jefferson's overwhelming antics. Jefferson stepped aside and gestured to the inside of his house. "By all means, come in. Ugh, did you two honestly walk up that hill? Wipe your feet on the mat—I don't want you tracking dirt all over my clean white carpet."

Emma rolled her eyes to the distant ceiling and obediently wiped the dirt from her boots on the pitiful black mat at the base of the door. Gold, however, dared to step inside Jefferson's house and deliberately wipe the soles of his shoes across the carpet, staining it with thick black streaks of dirt.

"You're paying when I hire someone to clean my carpet," Jefferson muttered, pouting at the stains. Nevertheless, he escorted them to the living room.

Emma carefully tucked Gold's rose into her leather jacket and took a deep breath as she willingly stepped over the threshold into the madhouse.

…..

"Anyone care for tea? I promise to hold the sedatives," Jefferson quipped, pouring a teacup full of steaming amber liquid for himself. The reflection in the shiny silver kettle was oddly distracting, distorting the image of the room. Emma wondered if that was the way Jefferson viewed the world, burdened with distortion and nonsensical details.

She and Gold reluctantly lowered their bodies onto a white couch. It wasn't as soft as it looked. Emma squirmed for a full minute while searching for a comfy position. Finally, she sighed and gave up the effort.

Gold was composed as ever, lounging back against the cushions of the couch, one leg propped over the other. Emma had a feeling it was Gold's way of mocking Jefferson further with the amount of dirt caking the bottom of Gold's shoe.

Jefferson remained on the other side of the room, as though his guests carried leprosy. He leaned an elbow on his glorious marble fireplace—showing off in his own way—and sipped his tea.

"So, should we idly discuss Storybrooke's weather or should we hop right into the expectancies you hold for how I'll help you with your little problem? Those should come off with a blowtorch."

Jefferson nodded to the cuffs. Emma's eyes shot open wide and she scooted back. There was no way some madman was coming near her wrist with a blowtorch. She'd sooner let Leroy educate an elementary school class on the dangers of alcohol.

"No, they won't," Gold protested without missing a beat.

Jefferson's brows knitted together as he worked out Gold's meaning. He stared long and hard at the handcuffs before something in the vein of recognition darkened his features. He set the teacup on the mantle of the fireplace and lumbered forward for closer inspection.

"Are those the handcuffs I portal-jumped for in our world? Near the chain…is there a decoration of a heart?"

Instead of waiting for their answer, Jefferson snatched up Emma's wrist. She tried pulling away, but Jefferson spun and trapped her arm against his body. If she struggled, he would pull even more and she and Gold would fly off this couch.

It didn't help that Emma had a first-row visual of Jefferson's ass. Did he purposely invest in jeans that were two sizes too small?

There was a low curse under Jefferson's breath. Turning back around, he released Emma's wrist, but not before tapping a specific spot near the chain. Emma rotated her wrist. There, etched in the metal where the keyhole should be were two delicate swirls that formed an abstract heart. The same was true for Gold's cuff.

"Just as I thought," Jefferson murmured, returning to his original position by the fireplace. Emma figured he had connected the dots about the seriousness of their situation. "Those handcuffs are magical, containing their own set of rules. King George used my services to acquire them for his spoiled, holier-than-thou son. They belonged to a pompous queen that was all too fond of claiming hearts."

There was a grave exchange between Gold and Jefferson. Emma wondered what that was all about. It must not be good if Gold suddenly looked way too uncomfortable in the restrictions of his suit.

"Let me guess: Regina?" Jefferson's gaze flickered to Emma. The guarded attitude reminded her that she wasn't involved in their inner circle. Gold refused to even acknowledge her thirst for answers.

"Good guess, but no," Jefferson humbly replied, shrugging his vested shoulder. He leveled his focus on Gold, apparently demanding that he fill in the blanks.

Emma prided herself with being observant enough to detect the changes in Gold's mannerisms. The tight pursing of his lips, the hazy flatness of his irises, the way his muscles bunched and coiled under the fabric of his suit—it all suggested that this was one subject he'd prefer not to discuss.

The silence was maddening.

"Worse, dearie. Regina's mother," he mumbled hesitantly. Emma didn't need Gold to meet her eyes to read what lay beneath the surface. She could hear it in his voice; the pain, the longing, something greater than remarking on one of his past customers. This woman was different.

"You knew her," Emma surmised flatly, barring any emotion from tainting her voice.

It was harder than she thought. Even without opening her mind to Gold like a book, the statement still came across in the form of an accusation. The notion that Gold might have intimately known Regina's mother turned her stomach—and not in the good sense.

Jefferson nearly doubled over in laughter, his palm smacking the mantle of the fireplace.

"Knew her? The imp practically moaned her name into his pillow the month that he spent with her. Isn't that what you once told me, Rumpel?"

Emma felt an unforgiving chill seep into her bones. Of course she understood that Gold would have had other loves or perhaps kept mistresses in his bed. But the onslaught of ache in her heart was too powerful to deny.

What did it matter? She wasn't Gold's true love, after all. It didn't matter. It didn't…but then why did she find herself angling her body away from Gold's and reaffirming the use of her old walls? If it didn't matter, then there would be no purpose for those walls.

"It's not what you think, Emma," Gold hurried to explain. He clasped her knee frantically, the most sensual touch he'd ever laid on her body. His fingers brushed her thigh before he drew back. It was a good thing he didn't dress her in a skirt. "She will always be a part of my past, never my future. It was a moment of weakness, a lustful encounter that held empty promises and lies. She never loved me. You understand?"

He pressed a palm to his chest, as though suffering from a wound to the heart. Emma's nerves tingled with pins and needles. She inclined her head.

"I understand," she assured him, to which he sighed with relief. Apparently, it mattered to him, too. Her walls chipped apart, descending to her feet. Jefferson watched the scene unfold with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

What was he so chipper about?

"Wow…I completely forgot about that rule," he said mostly to himself. Emma's head snapped up with the swiftness of a vulture. "The fact that you two are wearing those cuffs explains a lot."

Alarms signaled in Emma's brain. She wanted to wipe that smirk off Jefferson's lips, even as he casually raised that teacup to his mouth for a generous sip of tea. She hoped he mixed up his drugged tea one day and knocked himself out.

"What rule?" Emma's tone was filled with that no-nonsense rigidity that was often present in her bounty-hunter days.

There was something, some other intricate detail Jefferson wasn't saying. Instinct warned her that Gold was very much aware of that detail as well. She looked across to Gold, but he seemed overly fascinated in Jefferson's choice of furniture.

"Well—" Jefferson started in gleefully, but Emma held up a hand to silence his words. He frowned childishly.

"I don't want to hear it from you," she barked, never allowing her focus to stray from Gold's shadowy face. He released a deep breath through his nose, contemplating his words with ease. She nudged his leg insistently, refusing to be ignored.

"In order for the handcuffs to work their magic, the two individuals chosen for them must harbor…mutual feelings of attraction," he revealed. Emma's eyes flashed down to the burdensome cuffs, the pieces clicking together. "Otherwise, the cuffs will seem broken. We weren't the first contestants Henry selected, remember?"

That was right. Henry mentioned trying the trick on Snow and Regina, followed by Charming and Grumpy. It was one of the things that baffled him about their success in being locked together. It had failed in the previous attempts. That was because there was no spark of attraction between any of those pairs.

But for her and Gold…oh, there had been attraction. Even if she never admitted to it aloud, it still held true.

How many times had she secretly admired the way his suits accentuated every curve of his body? How many times had she shivered in response to her name rolling off his tongue in that seductive accent? Regina's taunts made her bristle more than necessary—_you need to be careful who you get into bed with. _

Supposedly, the attraction had to be mutual. It meant that Gold fancied her more than he ever let on. It did strange things to her insides.

She realized that it was too quiet in that living room. Jefferson was content with watching their amusing reactions in light of their hidden attraction.

"So, how about answering a few of my burning questions? How exactly do you two shower? Not that I want visual proof. And do you two share a bed? Or does one of you sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor? Emma, do you sneak him into your bedroom like a lovesick teenage girl? Or does he drop in with a little _'Charmings, I'm home'_?"

Emma snatched up one of the decorative white pillows on the couch and flung it at Jefferson. Since it was tossed with her left hand, the aim was a little off and hit him in his most sensitive spot. Thankfully, it was a pillow and not a rock. Or a gunshot.

"Can you help us or not?"

Jefferson abandoned his teacup and stalked over to the armchair across from the couch. He flounced down in its cushioned embrace and whipped up a strawberry-filled biscuit from the tea-tray. He chewed while he thought.

"Magic is not something you tamper with, Emma. It's always tricky and always abides a unique set of rules. Some rules have reason, some don't make a lick of sense. Sometimes, there are loopholes, but they're usually tricky to find. One of us knows all about that."

Jefferson maintained his innocent façade, but he might as well have performed a fake cough with Gold's name mixed in there. Beside her, Gold shot forward in his seat.

"If you have something to say, why not get it off your chest? Stop wasting our time," he hissed, eyes glittering like dark jewels. Jefferson swallowed the rest of his biscuit and rose to that challenge.

"Since you asked…you, Rumpelstiltskin, have a problem. You guzzle down magic like it's lemonade. There, I said it." Emma cradled her head in her hand. This was only the beginning.

"You weren't complaining when you were stuffing your leather pants full of my golden thread," Gold retorted, to which Jefferson mumbled something about that point being unfair. Emma had two problems with that barb: she did not want to grace her eyelids with the image of Jefferson in leather pants and she did not want to imagine him stuffing anything down those pants.

"Can…you….help…us?"

Each word was its own sentence. Emma cut across whatever protest Jefferson was preparing to make. He leaned forward in his seat, the threads of silver in his cravat catching the light. He reached behind the chair and revealed a rather large top hat. His magic hat.

"In Wonderland, there are these mushrooms. When consumed, they have the ability to make you smaller. Maybe if you shrink, you'll slip through the cuffs," he proposed. Emma didn't try to hide her alarm. It was the snail suggestion all over again.

"Absolutely not," Gold thundered. "There is no part of my body that will be exposed to shrinking."

Emma had to stifle a giggle when Gold glance pointedly down at the space between his legs. _Figures he would be concerned over the size of his estate, _she thought wryly.

"What's the matter? Afraid it won't grow back properly? All magic comes with a price, right?" Jefferson looked far too happy over there. Gold crossed his legs firmly as though protecting that precious organ. "In that case, you're out of luck. Unless Emma—"

"I don't care what world they're from. I'm not doing mushrooms," she declared with finality. Jefferson shrugged.

"Then, it's settled. There's nothing else I can do for you. Cheer up—I'm sure if you two put your minds together, you can work your way out of this," Jefferson reassured them, albeit mockingly. That slimy smugness suggested Jefferson's definition of _minds _was replaced with _bodies. _"Let's see…you haven't cut your hands off yet. And unless I see dead people, you're both alive and well. That leaves one option."

Emma cringed at Jefferson's enthusiasm in their love life.

"We're done here," Gold stated. Emma was only too happy to jump to her feet and practically shove Gold toward the door. Instead, he bent over the tea-tray and scooped up a handful of biscuits before Jefferson could stop him. "Don't let that tea go to your head, now."

Jefferson rose to his feet and made absurd faces at Gold's back. Emma decided not to warn him that Gold seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

"You still owe me a dollar for that rose!"

The moment they were gone, Jefferson half-ran up the grand stairs to the second level of his mansion. He would hire someone to scrub the mud stains from that carpet and charge it to Gold. Loathsome imp. He made a beeline for the hat room, his best telescope perched near the bay window. It was Emma's fortune that it hadn't been destroyed when she whacked him over the head with it.

Now, he peered through the eyepiece and adjusted it so that he got a good view of the hill. Ah, yes—there they were. Walking in synchronized step, exchanging small glances when they thought they weren't looking, the rose caught between Emma's fingers. The two prisoners might as well wear signs around their necks saying '_We're in love! Can't you tell?'_

"I give them until Valentine's Day."

….

The trek down the hill wasn't anywhere near as bad as the trek up the hill. They walked side by side, their steps matching in a pace they had perfected recently. Emma had taken the rose out to admire it again. She turned her face up to the sky and moaned at the sight of the dark clouds rolling in. It looked like they were in for a nasty storm.

Every few minutes or so, she chanced a sideways glance at Gold. She knew he did the same, even if he was under the impression that she was unaware of it. That man wasn't as subtle as he liked to think.

"How long have you been…attracted to me?"

It had been buzzing around her mind since the moment Gold explained the handcuffs' secret rule. A half-smile tugged insistently at his lips while she buried her nose in the rose's fragrant petals. He had been waiting for her to ask that question.

"Quite possibly the first time we met," he said in his soft-spoken manner. His brown eyes glazed with the faint memory. "You were the first thing I saw when I regained my true memories. All strength and independence, a golden wildfire smoldering in Storybrooke. Your presence commands attention, as it did mine. You weren't intimidated by me, but fearless and determined. Just so you know, I find ambition and wit in a woman to be incredibly sexy."

Emma was so glad her mouth was hidden by the rose, so that he would not see how desperately her teeth grinded her lip to staunch the sudden heat in her belly. No one had ever called her sexy, either.

"No reciprocation?" Gold tilted his head as he waited. Emma raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When did you first find yourself attracted to me? Or did it take the bluntness of being handcuffed to me to realize it?"

Emma stared out at the fringes of the forest, recalling the earliest memory of attraction to Gold. It swam to the surface and she smiled sadly as she remembered that day.

"The day I can remember having any sort of interest in you was the day you gave me the walkie-talkies. Two weeks after Graham's death. It was the nicest thing I'd ever seen you do. Then you offered me advice about how time with your child is precious. I think there's more to you than meets the eye and I caught a glimpse of it that day. I liked it."

The two of them smiled at each other, absorbing each other's words. His fingers teased hers, though he did not fully claim her hand. Then the skies opened up and it started to pour.

…..

"Some help he was," Emma fumed as she crashed through the front door.

What a waste of time, running to the Mad Hatter for help. What were they thinking? The Blue Fairy would have been more helpful, but then they were paying a visit to the fairies tomorrow morning. It was torrentially down-pouring outside, the drops pounding against the windows and rolling like tears across the glass.

"I seem to remember Jefferson being more helpful before he lost his head," Gold remarked bitterly.

He closed the front door with a forceful slam. He was just as frustrated as she was, even if he did try to shield it behind that impenetrable mask of his.

Emma kicked off her boots by the door and took full control of the reins, steering him in the direction of the kitchen. Once they reached their destination, she made a determined beeline for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine that had been sitting in the rack on the door. The alarms rang in Gold's head.

"What are you up to, dearie?"

He tried to reach out and grab the bottle of wine, but she swiftly dodged his attempts, cradling it to her chest like a football. He could tell she was distressed by yet another dead end in their path to freedom, much as she chose to pretend otherwise. Carrying the bottle to the counter, she opened the cupboard.

"Same thing I always do when thinking becomes too hectic and I'm trapped in a corner of an impossible situation—I have a drink," she calmly replied as she retrieved two glasses. "You probably need one, too."

That was the understatement of the year. Maybe even the century.

Emma balanced the bottle of wine and glasses, bringing them to the table. She ignored his offerings to help, most likely under the impression he would refuse to allow her to drink tonight. One drink wouldn't hurt; it might even relax her frantic nerves.

Uncapping the bottle, she poured a generous amount of wine in each glass. The amber fluid rose to the rim. He sighed as he settled into a chair slightly opposite her—a mere foot away—and tipped the glass to his lips. Ooh, that tasted marvelous.

It was nice to come home from an overwhelming day and indulge in a glass of wine, or a cup of tea as was his preference. He would enjoy it all the more if he had someone like Emma to share it with him each night.

If he had Emma.

"I suppose this is the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. The rate we're going, we'll be together for a while yet," he said and downed the entire contents of his glass. Emma poured him another, even though she had only taken a sip of hers.

A solemn smile haunted her lips.

"Have you ever heard of the game 'I Never'?" The blankness of his stare answered her question. Such odd games this world had. "It was a drinking game I learned in high school. In our strange circumstance, we could always put a spin on it and call it 'You Never.' Pretty simple—I guess something about you. If I'm right, you drink. Same goes for me."

Gold's finger traced the rim of his glass. The wheels spun in his head.

"Deal," he whispered and lounged back to await her first move.

Emma scrutinized him long and hard, starting from the top of his dark head to his finely pressed suit to the expensive shoes on his feet. She reminded herself about who he truly was behind that serene, calculating vise—Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous, gold-spinning dealmaker.

And then she whistled lowly through her lips, ready to take the leap.

"You….never….wore the color pink," she said. Immediately, his muscles stiffened underneath his charcoal suit. He was nearly speechless, gaping openly at her as though she had just given birth to a three-headed child.

"That is your first question? My choice of style?" He checked himself over, smoothing a hand down the length of his suit in case she would verbally attack that, too. She rolled her eyes and pointed to his glass.

"Answer it. Drink or don't drink. You never wore the color pink," she repeated insistently. The kitchen fell into a heavy silence, the seconds ticking by. The glass of wine never rose off the table, never touched his mouth. She bit back the gale of laughter as she watched the guilt spiral over his face. "I knew it. Your turn."

"Just for the record, there was a red sock mixed in the washer…" He rushed to explain, but Emma shook her head. _Whatever you say, Gold,_ she thought with a hint of amusement. He was quiet for a few moments and then he lifted a finger to signal a thought. "You've never smelled anything more pleasant…than the scent of my cologne."

Oh, wasn't he just full of himself.

Emma experimentally leaned forward enough for her nose to graze his shoulder. She deeply inhaled, the scent of his rich cologne teasing her nostrils. Hmm…there was that odd faint hint of strawberry lingering on the ends of his hair, too. She reclined back and shrugged. The smile was hard to hide.

"I've smelled worse," she admitted. Asking her if she liked his cologne was a whole different playing field. She took a sip. _And in this corner…._"You've never worn jeans."

She bet he didn't even own one pair. Just to prove her right, he lifted his glass to his lips. At least she could expect him to always look his best.

"You've never been to Disney World." Ouch.

Emma reluctantly claimed her glass from the table and took a generous sip. Gold's eyes boggled in surprise. Clearly, he had been expecting the opposite.

Just because she was the daughter of Snow White didn't mean she grew up wanting to be a princess and wore flowery dresses and sang ridiculous cheery tunes about princes coming to her rescue. Those kids got adopted.

"You've never been to Disney World? Rumor has it it's one of the happiest places in this world," he objected. She shrugged carelessly.

Nothing had ever been easy for her during her childhood, even when she was adopted by her first family. They had sent her back when she was three. Even though she traveled a lot outside the system, she never quite made it to Florida.

It was just one of those wonders of childhood that had been denied her.

"Yeah, well…I've never been prone to happiness much before Henry," she murmured, keeping her gaze locked on the ripples in her wine as she tilted the glass back and forth. It was her turn again. A smile spread rapidly across her face—this one she was sure about. "You've never been married."

That glass barely rose an inch. It was her turn to be startled into silence.

"You've been married? To who? Regina's mother?" Not that she meant to sound like the jealous girlfriend.

She wondered if this information was stored somewhere in Henry's book. If it was, the kid probably would have mentioned it…right? There was only one ring on his finger, a gaudy silver one set with a dark stone. Did that hold meaning to his ex-wife? She hoped he got that by chance out of a gumball machine.

Instead of the wry humor she expected, there was nothing but darkness and grief in Gold's expression. His finger chased a stray drop of wine slipping on the inner side of the glass, becoming lost in the contents of the glass.

"Believe it or not, Emma, I was married once. It was not Regina's mother. Though, it was…an illusion. An empty marriage. Milah was…she never loved me."

The wretched ache in his voice made her wince. Milah. She would have to remember that one. It wasn't everyday Gold opened up this way—he hardly ever talked about his past.

With a rapid blink of his eyes, the sorrowful memory his mind had been feasting on was gone.

"You've never been afraid of me. Why?"

To answer his first statement, Emma tipped back her glass and drank half the wine. The second question was not part of the game, but her tongue was inclined to answer it, anyway.

"Maybe because I know how to recognize a desperate soul, too," she repeated the words he once spoke to her. Lines of uncertainty marked his brow. "Maybe because you exert so much energy into convincing me that you're bad, the implication being that you're not as bad as you want to believe. You're just….complicated. A mystery wrapped in a fancy suit wrapped in a Scottish accent."

That clever wordplay earned her a smile, if only for a brief instant. She wished he found the will to smile more often, but she knew the same could be said about her. Perhaps they both needed to find some safe place in this world.

"You're only afraid of being too close to me," he observed.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. A terrible chill slid along her nerves. If they were being honest with one another…oh, here it came…the vulnerability was too dominant to quench now.

"It's not because I don't trust what you will or won't do. It's because I don't trust myself about what I might do or how I might feel when I'm alone with you. You….enchant me," she whispered.

It was only then that she realized how long this had been on her mind, hidden away. She could hardly feel the chair beneath her legs; she was free-falling into a lake of chocolate, unable to tear her eyes from his face. The walls were tumbling down, crumbling at her feet.

How close would she trust herself to move in his direction?

His wine glass angled toward her, a small sign to alert her that it was her turn once more.

"You never….kissed me,' she dared to blurt out. She peered at his reaction from underneath her eyelashes. His body was still; she wasn't sure if he was even breathing. Another inch or two of the wine made its way down his throat.

"As you have never kissed me," he fired back the same question.

Down went the rest of her wine, but she didn't make a move to pour another glass. The tension between them was too great—it had been building up during the past two days. And, foolish as it may be, she was about to strike the match and set it to the gasoline.

"You want to."

Three simple words, an invitation.

Her heart pounded inside her chest; she was certain he could hear its rapid rhythm. The two of them had leaped into open air, they were falling together at an unbearable speed, and neither of them had the power to stop it. Throwing his hand in the air in defeat, he tossed back the remaining portion of his wine. Two empty glasses on the table.

He wanted it.

"Shall I drink for every time I had that desire?"

Emma had no doubt that if he did, the bottle would be empty. Craning forward in his seat, his free hand brushed against her cheek, sweeping aside a curl of blonde hair. His face softened, deep want pooling among his irises.

"Emma…"

Breathy and rich with his accent, she loved the way he said her name. It tied a rope around her waist and propelled her forward, toward him. Her hands latched onto his knees, sliding upwards along his thighs as she closed the distance between them. His lips parted in anticipation of what they both knew was inevitable to come.

Ever so gently, she pressed her mouth to his, sealing the deal. At first it was hesitant, their lips teasing in a delicate kiss. An experiment of sorts, each one testing the other's boundaries, the opportunity to stop still a viable option. It was soft as flower petals, warm as summer rain.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but its chasteness was refreshing. Emma felt like she'd been wandering lost in a desert for days and had finally earned that blessed taste of cool water.

It was the moment where it broke that everything changed. There was no turning back.

His free hand cupped the back of her neck and he eagerly returned her kiss, harder this time. The force of his hand urged her down to meet him, his arm embracing her and wrapping her tightly inside like black wings. He seemed to pour his soul into her and she instinctively knew: he had never kissed a woman so passionately.

She leaned into him, her fingers holding him by the hips. As she applied a tiny bit of pressure, he groaned into their kiss. Her fingers danced to the spot where she sensed his scar was located under the fabric of his suit and she began to massage it feverishly. She smiled against his lips as his breathing quickened, his eyes rolling back into his head in bliss.

The two of them battled for dominance of that searing kiss until Emma ultimately opened her mouth to grant him access. The tip of his tongue mingled with hers—one of them moaned deeply. Her toes curled in unadulterated bliss. His hands took her by the hips and guided her fully onto his lap, the kiss never faltering.

Her name fell from his lips between kisses. Throwing back her head, she offered him the fullness of her throat, which he eagerly massaged with supple nips and kisses. His lips lingered over the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse fluttering under the papery layer of skin. Then his mouth trailed down, down, his hands sliding across her waist and tugging on the hem of her shirt…

"Wait," she stopped him.

Her voice was raw and husky, her breathing heavy. He tilted his head back to gaze up at her with unusually cloudy eyes. His fingers chose not to release her shirt just yet. It had weighed on her all of a sudden, what they were about to do.

"Not yet. I'm not ready for this yet."

Forlornly, he loosened his hold, allowing her to rise to her feet. Her legs wobbled unsteadily like Jell-O and she leaned on the kitchen table for support. The warmth in her belly never escaped her notice. Fumbling with the bottle of wine, she poured herself another glass and she downed it in one shot. She poured another and she downed that one just as easily.

God, the roof of her mouth was drier than cotton.

She heard him take a step closer, standing inches behind her. If he touched her, there was a good chance she'd lose it again. Only this time, there might be no reeling it in.

"Our options are running out, dearie. You want it as much as I do."

As if she hadn't been reflecting on that idea every second with these cuffs hanging on her wrist. She averted her gaze, refused to look directly at him as she searched for an answer.

And then he did what she hoped he would not do—he caressed a hand along her arm, squeezing her elbow lightly. She closed her eyes, literally bit down on her tongue to fight the urge to walk into his arms. His breath tickled the nape of her neck.

"What do you truly want, Emma?"

She unintentionally shifted her neck toward his mouth until a kiss pressed against her skin. A softer one followed it, against the spot right under her earlobe. God, it was so tender…Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, turning white in their effort.

What did she want? _You,_ the obvious answer burned up through her throat. She bit sharply down on her tongue to stifle its release.

"I want…I want someone who will treat me right. Someone who will treat me with respect and care, as if there's a difference whether I'm in their life or not. I…I never had someone like that before, even with Henry's father."

A tremulous hand smoothed its way along the arch of her back.

"You want me to court you," he filled in the blanks.

Emma half-smirked, mostly over his choice of words. No one ever said "court" anymore, but it was exactly what she meant in the long run. If he didn't put in the time and effort of courting her, what was she really worth to him?

Somehow, she did not have a doubt. Courting was precisely what Gold would do, if she only gave the signal. Her heart rate slowed and she trusted her willpower enough to turn around.

"Yes," she said and licked her lips. It was a habit she had picked up recently from observing him. He playfully tugged on a curl of golden hair, twisting it around his finger. A pensive expression flickered across his face.

"Very well, Emma. A courtin' we shall go," he agreed in his soft-spoken manner. Gold never broke his word.

After the two of them regained their composure around each other, Emma helped him gather up the glasses and carried them to the sink. It was a miracle she didn't drop one, her hands were shaking so badly. The memory of their heated kiss replayed endlessly in her mind as the cool stream of water ran over her hands.

For a second there, as she had lost herself in Gold, she began to reconsider the fate of these handcuffs. Maybe these cuffs were not as much of a curse as she and Gold originally presumed. Maybe…if used correctly…they could turn out to be a blessing as well.

Or it might have been the wine talking.

…

_**I figured it was past time I give out some real good Golden Swan fluff. That chapter should hold you over, huh? **_

_**A huge round of thanks go out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, RaistIsHot, caritastv, Shizuku Tsukishima749, JayJ, Guest, PrincessofSea, discotimelord, Marcie Gore, cat4444, JessJess76, The Auburn Girl, AngelOfDarkness1605, BundyShoes, la-stella-immortale, Black Heart, Onceuponatimesupporter, nuckythompson, Moonlight-Wanderer88, sbcarri, TeamTHEFT, SwanQueen4055, and Lyn Harkeran. **_

_**Thank you so much, everyone, for already giving this story over 100 reviews, by the way! You have no idea how happy I am whenever I read these kind words and see them waiting in my inbox! **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Wow, seems you guys really liked that kiss in the last chapter, huh? I think that last chapter had the most reviews so far! Once again, thank you all for the support that you've been giving this story and I hope you like this chapter just as much. A little bit of a hot warning, too. **_

Emma's mind was already buzzing with the memory of the kiss she shared with Gold when she stretched and woke. The streams of sunlight pouring through the window temporarily blinded her, so she snuggled deeper into her pillow until her eyes could adjust of their own accord. She couldn't help but smile wryly when she traced the familiar contours of her pillow.

_There is no fighting my subconscious, _she thought as she inhaled Gold's scent underneath the tip of her nose. _That's one dragon that refuses to be slain. _

Tilting her head back onto her own pillow, she noticed that Gold was wide awake and alert, his body lounging casually within the slats of sunshine, like a cat leisurely bathing in the sun. He was reading _The Hunger Games. _

Funny—she always pegged him for the type who indulged in the classics with a glass of wine in hand. _Romeo and Juliet _and _Phantom of the Opera, _that sort of read.

"You know, I'll never understand how this Peeta boy has it so easy with his love interest. All he does is toss her a burnt loaf of bread in the rain and she's snagged on his hook," he complained without looking up from the page. He turned the book around to stare at the golden mockingjay on the cover, as if it would have the answers. Then he flung it carelessly on the bedside table. "If I handed a woman a loaf of bread, she'd question whether it was poisoned."

Emma doubted that, even if he was speaking from experience in his ambiguous way. If he offered _her_ a freshly made loaf of bread, she'd more than likely dig in. Such was the extent of her morning appetite, quaking like a volcano ready to erupt.

"What, no breakfast in bed? You're not really kicking this whole courting business off to a good start," she teased. He sat upright in bed and gaped down at her. He reacted the way a person would if someone yelled _fire. _

Sheesh, it was just a quip. No need to get his tie in a bunch.

"You expect me to tote you unconscious down the stairs to prepare heart-shaped pancakes and smiley faces formed of bacon and eggs? I have a feeling you would be moaning about the bruises instead," he replied, pouting.

He waved a hand aside and a plate of steaming food manifested on her lap. Complete with heart-shaped pancakes and a vase with a rose. There were even pink napkins for the occasion.

"Thank you," she genuinely conceded as she draped a napkin over her pajamas and reached for her fork. Despite his aloofness, Gold absorbed her satisfaction with a quirk of his lips.

"Don't thank me yet," he warned, just as she stuck a generous piece of pancake into her mouth. Instead of a blissful explosion of flavor, it wasn't any better than sodding cardboard. She spewed it out and reached for the wavering glass of orange juice. He waved a finger disapprovingly, accentuated by a pattern of _tsk-tsk-tsk. _"I wouldn't do that, either. Magic and food preparation do not mix well."

That certainly said a lot about the drinks of alcohol he'd spawned in his shop in face of Emma nearly chopping his hand off with a sword. Emma's hand loosened from the glass. She dealt with the bitter aftertaste in the back of her throat by ignoring it. Then her eyes flickered to the delicate rose dancing in the vase.

"If I pick up that rose and sniff it, is it going to squirt me in the face?"

That earned a slight chuckle from her sleeping partner. His brown eyes glimmered as though he were privy to an inside joke. She deposited the tray onto his lap. Let his stomach be tortured by the deceptively unappetizing food.

So much for the breakfast in bed idea.

"What's on our agenda today? Who are we going to visit first? I doubt the fairies are high on your priority list." Gold whisked the tray away with a graceful flourish of his wrist. With any luck, it would land on someone's porch. Like Regina's.

He gestured for her to follow him as he slid from the bed and approached his closet in search of the appropriate outfit for the day.

"Oh, we'll be visiting everyone today, dearie," he declared.

Emma's eyes widened. She never knew so many people in Storybrooke could be of help, unless he wanted to personally advertise their intimate situation. The way he grinned wolfishly made a stone drop into her stomach. Did she dare to ask his motive?

"Why?"

"It's rent week, Emma."

…

It was showering time again.

Just as before, Gold cranked the knob around, the spray transforming from a few drops of water to a powerful stream in the span of three seconds. This time, however, he set out a towel on the rim of the sink so that Emma would not be reduced to crawling for it as she did the first time around.

"No peeking," he taunted, winking suggestively.

He fingered the top button of his pajamas. It was a playful hint for Emma to turn around unless she desired an early morning show. But Emma did not move, even when he cocked an eyebrow in challenge. His nose crinkled the way it did when he found something in which to poke fun.

"A bit of advice—you might want to bathe this morning. My magic can do much, but even I can't keep you smelling lemony fresh forever."

Emma glared on the heels of his insinuation. Then she raised her free arm and dared to sniff the natural aroma of her body, just to make sure. Her nose scrunched in distaste as the odor hit her without warning.

Oh, she really could use a hot shower. With strawberry-scented shampoo.

"Well, we could always…you and I could…together…"

The words were out before she could confine them to the deepest, most secret portion of her brain. She awkwardly motioned to the billowing crimson curtain. Heat flushed her neck and it had nothing to do with the vapor seeping through the enclosed bathroom.

The idea had popped into her mind—part of her couldn't even believe she was suggesting it so boldly.

Apparently, Gold was equally astounded.

The color drained from his face, all traces of humor gone in the blink of an eye. The finger teasing that first button suddenly went limp and fell away to his side. It seemed a struggle for his lungs to take in air. Emma bet that no living, breathing woman had ever requested to share such intimacy with him.

"Emma…are you implying…you want to shower with me?"

That kiss had affected her more than she initially realized. There was still courting to do as per her proposal, yet somehow Emma could not seem to cling to it this morning. This had been a fleeting notion, but she secretly anticipated it. It was daring, intimate, something she had never before done with another man.

She wanted to do it.

"It would save time," she pointed out, as if that were the core reason for the suggestion. "If you want to…if not, I'll just turn around."

It was a silly urge, a late reaction to the intensity of their heated kiss last night. It was early in the morning and her mind was still hazy from sleep. Just because Gold made the occasional remark about hopping in the shower with him did not prove he meant it. It was only to trigger a response from her, tease her. The man probably valued his privacy in the shower.

These were the excuses she consoled herself with as she started to turn to face the wall. Then the tender warmth of Gold's hand grazed her elbow, making her pause.

"No, I…I wouldn't mind if you…" His lips clamped shut as he struggled with finding the right words. She had never witnessed him so tongue-tied. It was kind of cute, an indication that he was indeed human. "I wanted to ask you, but I figured you would assume it was another quip."

Emma felt a boulder lift from her chest, an overwhelming surge of relief that she would not have experienced one week earlier. How had so much changed between them in such short time? Or had it simply been slumbering the whole time, waiting for a chance to be awakened?

His hand rose to brush a tangle of blonde hair from her cheek. The opportunity had presented itself. This one was not a quip. Emma's skin continued to tingle from the caress of his fingers even as they curled into his palm and faltered from her jaw.

Part of him looked just as relieved that she brought it up while the other half remained conflicted.

"Are you sure this is what you truly want, Emma? Never mind everything I may have said before. We may be in a precarious situation, but we don't have to…do this," he said. She never knew he held so much respect for her honor.

"I know I don't have to, Gold. I want to," she admitted, taking him further by surprise. "You were right the first time. I guess a part of me wanted it, but I didn't know how to ask for it. Until now."

It wasn't as mind-boggling as it had been a few seconds ago. This did not involve the act of going all the way in a fit of passion. This was just the act of taking a shower together. For hygienic purposes and time management.

Gold nodded once and let his hand hover above his chest. It was time to undress or there would be no showering. With a quick whoosh of his wrist, his shirt detached cleanly from his body, fluttering to the floor without any regard over the cuffs.

Inevitably, Emma's gaze traveled from his face to his chest, examining it while butterflies soared in her stomach. He pinched the cloth of her silk top between two fingers, but did not do away with it. His eyes locked with hers, awaiting her permission. _Do you still want this? _

As carefully as he had done, she inclined her head in a slight nod.

The essence of magic flowed into the silk top, making it grow steadily warm against her skin. Like his shirt, it fell seamlessly away from her upper body as if it had been slashed in two. Her black bra stayed on. His fingers hesitated in tracing the strap.

"Do it," she whispered, shrugging a shoulder.

One of the straps slid down her shoulder, tempting him. He licked his lips hungrily. That was the strap he grasped, his knuckle teasing the curve of her inner arm. All it took was a pinch of magic and the bra separated from her body. Goosebumps traveled over her exposed skin, but she did not attempt to cover her torso.

Gold fought valiantly to keep his attention trained on her face, though he sensed that her breasts were in full view. His jaw locked as he tried to maintain that shred of decency. The temptation grew too great and he glanced down. It was a losing battle—he drank in the sight of her bare chest without a single breath before casting his eyes down in shame.

Who knew the most powerful man in town was so modest?

Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, Emma departed from the matching silk pajama bottoms, allowing them to pool over the discarded shirt and bra. She stripped of everything until there was nothing adorning her frame except the handcuff on her wrist. The vapor from the shower moistened her legs and belly, though it did little to stop the goosebumps from streaming across every inch of bare skin.

"Your turn," she hinted, her voice strangely raw.

Gold's hands flew to the waist of his pajama pants. Emma watched as he quickly did away with them, as though he were afraid he might change his mind. He removed everything, kicking the pile aside.

There was nothing left. They were fully exposed to one another, even if they were not intending to come together as one whole just yet.

It was impossible for Emma not to look at all Gold had to offer. It practically demanded her undivided attention. This time, his scar might as well have been virtually invisible for all the notice it earned. It could not compete with the part of Gold she was most curious about. She found herself blushing like an innocent virgin.

"Like what you see?"

Gold dared to call her emotions into question. Emma covered up her amazement underneath her carefully constructed mask. When he claimed he had a rather large estate, he wasn't exaggerating.

She failed to hide how impressed she was.

"Maybe," she tugged him along for good measure. A clever gleam dancing in his eyes warned her that he saw right through her aversion.

Blindly, he raked aside the curtain and stepped under the spray. He extended his hand to request her presence. She took it, allowing him to lead her over the lip of the tub. Her ankle caught on the edge and she swayed forward, right into his arms. Their bodies became slick with warm water, a hand gliding smoothly over his chest.

Straightening up, she closed the curtain behind her and joined Gold under the spray.

It was an odd thing, taking a shower with Gold. The two of them adjusted to the exposure of their bodies, but they never stopped staring at each other. It was not the unnerved, awkward type of staring—this was pure fascination and admiration.

At first, they were content with the normalcy of shampooing their hair. Emma accepted a quarter-sized dollop of the strawberry-scented shampoo and massaged it along her scalp, the suds foaming over her knuckles. When the cuffs proved troublesome, they assisted each other with working the shampoo through their hair, weaving their fingers along the soapy strands.

At one point, Gold turned and stuck his head out the curtain, reaching for something she could not see. The angle offered Emma a perfect view of Gold's backside and this time there weren't any limitations of a mirror preventing her from glimpsing his entire frame. Feeling suddenly heady with excitement, Emma unabashedly devoured every inch of skin. She bit her lip painfully hard as her eyes descended beyond his waist.

Not bad at all.

Gold pulled the curtain back into its previous position and turned around, a facecloth in hand. Emma's gaze flicked back to his face, but his powerful smirk revealed that he knew exactly which portion of his body had graced her thoughts.

Without taking his eyes off her, he doused the cloth in water and rubbed soap into it.

Gently, he brought the cloth to her cheek and soothingly cleansed her skin. Slipping to her jaw, tracing the curve of her neck, caressing its way to her chest while rubbing in smooth circles. His thumb accidentally brushed the tip of her breast and he shied away. But Emma defied his hesitation by leaning forward and spilling into his palm.

Taking the cloth from his hand, she took her turn in soaking it over his chest. As the cloth climbed over his muscles, she immersed herself in every detail. With ease, the soapy cloth wound around his shoulders, her hand flattening over the junction between his neck and shoulder. Then her arm wrapped around his neck and the cloth grazed his shoulder blade.

It brought her closer to his body, only an inch of space remaining.

It was then that their tumultuous emotions caught up with them, intensified by their proximity. Emma became acutely aware of small details: the way her fingers followed the curve of his shoulder blade and cupped the back of his neck; the way the water dripped from the ends of his hair and formed droplets on her cheeks; the way their eyes burned together, unblinking. The fingers of their conjoined hands wove together while his free arm snaked across her waist, holding her.

Emma knew it was going to happen an instant before their lips met.

It set her veins on fire; it sent every logical thought reeling from her head. It seemed to consume her energy until the hand at the back of Gold's neck was hanging on for dear life. It was a simple kiss, moist with the downpour of water, but it was enough to make Emma sigh against his lips. Even after it broke, she kept her eyes closed and savored the taste of Gold on her tongue.

"Are you done?" Her eyelids parted, blinking rapidly in confusion. Gold stared down at her inquiringly and she felt her stomach drop. He pointed to the knob of the shower. "With the shower…are you done?"

Oh, that was what he meant. She untangled from his body and nodded.

"Better not keep your tenants waiting," she said, sliding from his grasp.

In truth, she was content with the way their shower ended. A few seconds more and she might have dove right into Gold without looking back. That kiss was eventful enough for one day. Back to reality and Gold's promise of courting.

Courting. That was what she wanted, right? _Yes, that is the right way, _one part of her brain proclaimed while the other half treasured the memory of Gold's touch. The man was starting to shift into something of a sneaky drug for her—unexpectedly addictive after the first hit, something to crave beyond her reach. This had been a relapse on her part.

Twisting the knob, the water depleted to a lazy stream of drops. Emma shivered from the sudden chill in the air. Reaching beyond the curtain, Gold retrieved the towel and draped it around her frame. She lifted an eyebrow curiously at his gentlemanly demeanor.

"And what about you? Are you going to consult your magic towels?"

He winced, thinking of how much of a disaster it would be if he trusted magic to possess his towels. He pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the shower, posing right in the center of the bathroom.

"I'll air-dry."

…..

Even though the curse was broken, Gold still owned every inch of land in Storybrooke.

On the way to collecting rent, he explained to Emma that it was a term in a deal he had made with Regina—that he acquired power in this new land. He reminded everyone in town that the breaking of the curse didn't change anything, that they were still living on his land and owed him money. If they did not like it, they were free to cross the border and lose their memories, of which their counterparts would be convinced Gold was their landlord, anyway.

Still, Emma was surprised there wasn't a line of cars racing at top speed for the border. She supposed this place would only be a ghost town if someone elected Gold as mayor in Regina's place. No one dared question his authority, even more so now that he possessed magic.

No one…except Emma, of course.

"Seriously? You make people pay rent on Valentine's week? That's a little low under the belt, even by your standards," she grumbled as they approached the walk leading to Regina's sprawling mansion.

Of course they had to start with her first.

"People cannot expect me to postpone the deadline for rent every time there is a jolly holiday. Rent is rent—it must be paid on time, no exceptions. I never break my word whenever someone makes a deal with me, so I demand the same in return," he countered, obnoxiously ringing the ex-Mayor's doorbell. _Ring-ring-ring-ring—_

The white door burst inward, the numbers 108 gleaming in the sun as though a last tribute to all that was bright in the world before darkness incarnated made her debut.

Did she own anything that wasn't black? It depressed Emma a bit. Even Gold added a splash of color to his charcoal suits with extraordinary shades of silk dress shirts. Today it was a deep violet that Emma could drown headfirst in while never wanting to glance at another glass of grape juice again.

"I heard you the first twenty-eight times, you worthless imp! What do you want?" Emma nearly snorted in response to Regina's grim greeting. _Who spit in her cornflakes this morning? _"Come to mock me about the fact that I was asked to leave my office? The rally of Charming supporters beat you to it."

Emma had the strangest feeling that Henry had something to do with that rally. Call it motherly instinct, but she made a mental note to drill her kid on that subject later. Knowing him, he would insist it was for a good cause. Like walking for breast cancer.

"Much as I would love to discuss your latest upset, _Madame Mayor_, I'm here to collect the rent," he stated coolly, all business while standing tall and proud behind his cane. Regina's ebony gaze wandered to Emma, tossing her a spiteful glare.

"What's _she _doing here?" By the sound of it, Emma was a pile of sludge ruining the paint on her porch.

Emma narrowed her eyes in return. She didn't forget that Regina possessed magic of her own, but when it came to hand-to-hand combat, she was confident she could overpower the arrogant brunette easily.

"I'm seeking cooking tips on how _not _to make an apple pie," she snapped.

Instantly, the ends of Regina's hair seemed to curl like individual snakes and her hands clenched into iron fists by her side. Her lip contorted in a vicious sneer as she charged for Emma.

"Why, you miserable wench—"

Regina halted in mid-step, but only because Gold had risen his cane to block her path to Emma. Emma, however, was mouthing the despicable term _wench _with an offended frown. A name for Regina floated around her mind, threatening to tunnel up through her throat. It rhymed with witch.

"She's in charge of the tip jar," Gold announced. He couldn't resist. "I suggested she wash cars instead, but Clark's store was sold out of leather swimwear. Not to mention it would require a team effort."

Emma wanted to smack him open-palmed on the back of the head. In that same instant, Regina's attention instinctively zoomed to their hands. The resemblance to the lip-curling smugness of the cartoon Grinch was uncanny.

"Oh, my. If Storybrooke held a contest for Most Devoted Couple, I have no doubt you two would win the prize. I might even stake my life savings on a bet with Leroy," she chortled. It might as well have been the world's funniest joke. "Tell me, Miss Swan, was this his idea or was it all you? What would the two idiots think of their sweet little girl now?"

_Actually, it was _my_ son's idea, _she debated revealing. While Emma grew stiff with displeasure and shot darts through her eyes—_die, die, die—_Gold was reserved and still smiling.

Why was he smiling? Did Cupid stick him with a love arrow?

"Remind me, Your Majesty…which unlucky soul will be warming your bed on Valentine's Day?" The victorious expression crumbled into dust and cold fury. Silence had never been so loud. "That's what I thought. The rent, please."

One of Regina's eyelids ticked at the way that last word slithered like molten lava from Gold's lips. She obviously hated that word, hated being given an order. It made Emma choke with a throaty chuckle as Regina spun on her heel and snatched up her black bag from where it hung on a hook by the door. She slapped the money into Gold's palm, fuming all the while.

Any minute now, Emma expected there to be an explosion with only a black starburst of ash on the floor to mark where Regina stood.

Gold counted out the money and then re-counted it to make sure it was all there. Emma suspected he was doing it on purpose to make Regina squirm. From the top of the pile, he lifted out a crisp five dollar bill and deliberately pressed it into Emma's palm.

"There you are, sweetheart. A token of my appreciation. Buy yourself something nice," he drawled with an evocative wink, his accent thick and rich in his attempted flirtation. Emma stared down at the five in her hand, wondering what the hell that would get her at Clark's general store.

Regina's head whipped back and forth like a combusted robot, her mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief.

"You sick little imp! You can't do that!"

Regina's screech was so ear-shattering that a bunch of crows took flight from a nearby tree. If they turned on the television, they'd probably find that an unexpected natural disaster had just occurred.

"I believe I just did," Gold remarked, flashing his gold-capped tooth at Regina. The color washed out of her skin, making her forehead resemble a bone-white skull. "You enjoy your Valentine's week."

With a curt nod, Gold swiftly turned and escorted Emma along the walkway. Emma waited to hear the abrupt slamming of a door, but it never came. Would they have to call a tow truck to convince Regina to move?

As if reading her mind, Regina's snappy heels clacked across the porch in hot pursuit.

"Hey," she called out to their retreating backs. Gold glanced over his shoulder as Regina pointed a lacquered nail in the direction of the cuffs. "Are those handcuffs the same ones that belonged to my mother?"

So she did recognize them. Emma's stomach turned with the reminder of the previous inhabitants of these cuffs. Gold smirked, angling his body so that the chain was in full view.

"You wish me to return them once Emma and I are done?"

Regina grimaced, her eyeballs practically boggling out of her head. Turning her nose up in the air, she back-tracked to the safety of her modern castle.

"Keep them," she growled before striding through her door and slamming it forcefully. The impact was so great that one of the numbers flipped upside down, swinging loosely back and forth. Gold snickered under his breath as they continued on their way.

Well, now that they more or less earned the Queen's blessing…

"That was awkward," Emma bluntly commented, rubbing a hand over her neck. Maybe if she rubbed hard enough, she could rid herself of the chill from Regina's glare. Gold patted her other hand reassuringly.

"Not to worry, Emma-dear. There are only one hundred or so tenants left to visit."

…

Emma safely assumed that collecting Regina's rent would be the most awkward experience out of all the tenants in Storybrooke. Oh, how wrong she had been. The awkwardness had only begun.

In fact, it seemed to get worse with every tenant.

House to house, store to store they traveled, paces matching fluently. Everyone commented on the handcuffs in their own way. The butcher swore to Emma that he would gladly cut off Gold's hand with his blood-stained cleaver if she asked while in the same breath putting his son up for auction. Regrettably, there was no candy heart that said _ooh, how kinky_, so Ashley translated for Red. Red did all the winking and thumbs-up motions.

Granny nearly threatened to shoot Gold with her crossbow because she was convinced he was holding Emma against her will.

"That's your way of finding yourself a date for the Valentine's Day festival? You know what I say to that? No free pickles _and_ no free napkins! Let's see how long those suits last, pretty boy!"

And Granny chased them out the door. Who knew Gold could move so fast down the street? He was a pro at speed-limping.

Moe French had the idea in his head that Gold was some kind of unearthly demon who preyed on young women, like his daughter. Emma had seen the pain ingrained in Gold's face when they left the flower shop in sullen silence and she tried comforting him with a small squeeze of the hand. He had glanced down at their entwined hands in surprise and looked to her to find an encouraging smile on her lips. He had returned the squeeze.

The only thing people were more amazed about, though, was how Emma argued over his methods in collecting the rent. It was like no one had ever questioned him before.

"No, Gold, you can't claim Archie's glasses until he pays up," she objected, even as Archie was torn between standing his ground and removing his glasses. The therapist looked shell-shocked at the way Emma casually put in her two cents.

Gold whirled on her with startling incredulity.

"Emma, the man needs to learn there are consequences when he fails to pay the rent on time. Otherwise, I become Mr. Softy and I won't see that rent until my dying day. And on that day, it won't matter because he'll raid my house, steal my curtains, pilfer my suits and make himself ten times richer."

Emma shook her head pitifully. Gold was one lonely, paranoid little man. Archie shuffled his feet over the threshold of his office, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Out of habit, he was itching to examine the source of that sensitive claim.

"Actually, I already have curtains—matching ones in my bedroom and bathroom. And I'm more of the sweater vest type of guy myself. I wouldn't know what to do with all that silk," he nervously murmured. Gold cast him a suspicious glare.

"So, your idea of consequence is to punish him with crawling all over Storybrooke like a male version of Velma from Scooby-Doo?"

Gold glanced between Emma and Archie, as though mentally applying the image of the therapist scrabbling on his hands and knees past the diner. He groaned deeply in his throat, stuck in the midst of deciding what to do.

"Very well. Pass over that umbrella and we'll call it even," Gold bartered, extending his hand in request for Archie's sacred keepsake. He gasped, blocking the view of the umbrella with his leg. Apparently, he'd rather give up the glasses. Emma stomped her foot.

"What exactly are you going to do with an umbrella? It's not even raining! Are you planning on twirling it like a parasol and swinging from a lamppost?" Now it was Gold's turn to be exasperated.

"Will you quit badgering me, woman?"

Emma reveled in Gold's temporary loss of control, even if Archie wasn't quite sure how to handle it. She cornered Gold until their bodies were an inch from touching, the electricity jolting between the small distance. Emma's eyes lacked any hint of intimidation.

"Make me," she retorted boldly.

The air thickened with tension as they slipped into a staring contest, both too stubborn to back down. Gold tried being stern and intimidating, but it rolled off Emma as smoothly as water off a duck. She never blinked, never shied away. She would not be defeated.

The pressure began to weigh heavily on Gold's shoulders and it was showing—a small pinch of the brow here, a coiling of the muscles there. Finally, he sighed and held up a single digit in front of Archie's face.

"One week. Only because I tolerate you far more than any other person in town," he ultimately declared. For Gold, that was equal to a confession of love.

Archie's knees buckled with relief, a goofy grin brightening his wise face. Before he controlled his glee, he sucked Gold into a hug. Emma hid her growing amusement behind her hand while Gold's body stiffened uncomfortably at the personal touch.

Thankfully, the hug only lasted a few seconds or Archie would have been beheaded.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold. You have no idea how much this means to me. If you two ever wish to discuss the complications of your situation, I'll be happy to do it free of charge."

The enthusiasm radiating off Gold was only a notch higher than that of a zombie. They were miles beyond complicated and Emma didn't want to be responsible for giving Archie a heart attack upon informing him that she willingly showered with Gold this morning.

"We'll keep that in mind," she mumbled as Gold directed her away from the office. She wondered if Gold felt even a smidgeon good for doing that one nice thing for Archie. The smile was too powerful to resist.

"Don't be so smug yet, Emma. For what that extension would ordinarily cost me, you'll be the one to pay it on his behalf. I fear you can't afford my price," he stated, the strain escaping from his shoulders. Emma didn't falter for an instant.

"Challenge accepted."

…..

_**Originally, this chapter was going to be a lot longer, but I decided to chop it in two. Of course that also means my next one is almost done already. Who knows? Maybe I'll be nice and give you guys two chapters in one week. (-; **_

_**For now, I have a lot of people to thank! Here's to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, louisethelibrarian, cat4444, Guest, PrincessofSea, Onceuponatimesupporter, caritastv, FlorencezMachine, BrightestWitchE, discotimelord, AngelofDarkness1605, Newland Archer, FortunesFavour, BundyShoes, Musicalfan2012, ParanormalMoonlight, Numbah 12, sbcarri, Moonlight-Wanderer88, GuardGirl2, Preciossa, Marcie Gore, The Auburn Girl, la-stella-immortale, and SwanQueen4055.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I promised you guys two chapters in one week. Well, here it is! All wrapped up nice and pretty with whipped cream and a cherry on top. I'm thinking there will only be a few more chapters left to this short story. On that note, enjoy this one. **

"Don't look now, dearie, but I think we're being followed," Gold hissed through his teeth.

They were in the tedious process of journeying to his shop, the rent-collecting finally done. Being followed would not even come close to the strangest occurrence that week—she was actually surprised it didn't happen sooner.

Emma ignored his warning and chanced a quick glimpse behind her.

It wasn't just one person following them like she had expected—it was several.

The seven dwarves slunk behind a few feet, desperately hiding behind cars and diving into bushes to avoid being seen. Subtlety wasn't their greatest strength. Among wearing leaves and twigs in their caps, they wore matching forest green clothes, like that would disguise them on the street.

The line of short men wandered behind a tree trunk, where they all struggled to fit only to have Dopey face-plant in the street. Grumpy was armed with a bulky pair of binoculars, his bald head sticking out from behind the tree.

Were they hired paparazzi for the _Daily Mirror_ now? Hoping to catch something juicy and worthy of gossip on Storybrooke's Chained-Up Couple?

"In here," Gold murmured with his lips barely moving.

The entrance to his shop loomed into view and he rapidly dug out his keys to unlock the door. The way he acted so frazzled and insistent on inserting that key into the lock, passersby would think the two of them were seeking the privacy of his shop for personal purposes.

Then again, he was the only man who owned a bed in the back room of his shop. The guy must be under the impression that he was King Midas, earning cat-naps after such grueling hours of taking inventory and smirking mischievously with a figurative sign around his neck saying: _I know something you don't know. And I'm not telling. _

"We'll sneak around," Gold proposed once he ushered her inside his shop. Emma cocked an eyebrow.

"I think it's a little too late for that," she taunted him, rolling her eyeballs to the parade of dwarves crossing the street while nearly getting run over by Miss Ginger. Gold shook his head without humor.

"I meant you and I shall sneak around…and catch them in the act of spying," he corrected. Emma had known exactly what he meant and she figured he knew it, too. She simply enjoyed testing Gold and pushing his buttons a bit.

Someone had to do it.

Slamming the front door, Gold snaked his hand around Emma's and led her through the black curtain behind the register. Turning her head, she thought she saw a few shadows looming into the shop's window. Instead of getting comfortable on that mattress in the corner, Gold skirted around antiques and his desk, heading straight for the door that led to the back alley behind his shop.

He held a finger to his lips, commanding her silence as they slid outside and took great care in easing the door closed. Well, she wasn't about to hire a marching band to perform dramatic music while they crept up on their stalkers, if that's what he assumed.

Gold kept his cane tucked under his arm instead of tapping the ground. They darted around the side of the building, Emma following close behind Gold. Abruptly, he stopped at the corner and she collided sharply into his back.

"Oof! Ow! You think you could give me a warning next time before you—"

Spinning, he tugged her body flush against his and caught her cheeks between his hand, cutting off her flow of words. His hand slipped over her mouth, his thumb tracing the bottom curve of her lip. His dark eyes spoke volumes: _Weren't you listening? Quiet, dearie._

Then his gaze flashed to that corner, gleaming with cunning intelligence. The hunted had become the hunter.

Emma nipped his finger, forcing him to wrench his hand away from her mouth. He bit forcibly on his own tongue to silence the uprising of a groan. That's what he got for trying to shush her.

Expression deadly serious, he peered around the corner at their seven followers, all of whom had their faces pressed to the glass window. Gold grimaced—no doubt someone was being hired as a window washer this week. Emma edged closer to Gold, poking her head around his arm to see.

Her hand rested on his forearm and she never noticed before how much strength he seemed to have hidden under that suit. It was oddly enthralling; she found herself preoccupied with fumbling over his arm to his elbow, down along his ribs to his waist. The more she stroked, the more she was convinced the weakness of that limp was a ploy for appearances.

He glanced down shrewdly and jabbed his finger toward the dwarves, his message clear._ As much as I adore having you feel me up, Emma, there are more important matters at the moment. _Right, she had to focus.

Straining her ears, she caught a snippet of their conversation.

"It's awfully…_a-atchoo!_ Quiet in there." Sneezy, followed by a nasally sniffle as he blew his nose into a napkin.

"I'll bet they're makin' good use of that bed back there. Who needs a bed in the back of a pawnshop, anyway?" Grumpy. Always the gambler at heart. Except no one proposed a wager this time.

"You shouldn't make assumptions, Grumpy," a wise tone chided the dwarf with the bad attitude. That would be Doc. "For all you know, she's helping him with his inventory. Strictly business."

Emma didn't have to crane her face in Gold's direction to sense that slow, sly grin shaping his lips. His eyebrows rose to the sky, his leer sweeping over the length of her body._ Inventory, huh? Is that what we're doing, Emma?_

Her elbow plunged into his gut and he bit his clever tongue again while stifling the moan of discomfort. His palm slapped against the side of the building as he battled against the ache in his side.

Thankfully, the commotion was covered up by the sound of Grumpy's guffawing.

"Business? Sure, doc. The Sheriff and the gimp decided to handcuff each other and you think they're in there doing inventory? Oh, right—they're adding some additions to the shop. Mini-Gold One and Mini-Gold Two." More raucous laughter, the kind that brought tears with it. "Charming's going to keel over."

Emma's body froze at the mention of her father. Her eyes locked with Gold's instantly and he looked just as grim. The light-bulb had clicked on, illuminating their minds with the stirring of a new realization. That was all they needed to hear. Her fists curled in burning anger and Gold touched her cheek to calm her.

"Maybe Emma's practicing with one of his swords. Or they're battling and trying to cut off each other's hand. You know, to escape," a tinny voice was barely perceptible over the breeze. Bashful.

"Maybe they're building a solid, trusting relationship in case those handcuffs never come off. A romantic dinner in the back room. Candlelight, a three-course meal, cheerful conversation…" Happy sounded like he was swooning over the fantasy.

"Maybe they're skipping dinner and heading straight for dessert. You know how big that gimp's sweet tooth is?" Grumpy persisted.

"Or maybe they're waiting for an explanation," Gold intercepted briskly as he stepped into view from the corner of the building, towing Emma behind. "Preferably one other than the classic_ I liked your picture on the Internet and had to have you." _

Emma deeply considered the chances of Gold ever landing in that situation.

The seven dwarves leaped up into the air, jumping out of their skins in fright. As Gold flitted forward with deliberate steps, a hungry vulture cornering its prey, the dwarves began to cluster in a tight circle.

"He's got a limp. Maybe if we run in seven different ways, he won't be able to keep up," Happy suggested in as low a tone as he could muster, murmuring in Grumpy's ear. In this tense silence, it sounded like the joyful dwarf was screaming on the top of his lungs.

Grumpy nodded and it was akin to a blast of cannon-fire to set off a gallant race.

The dwarves simultaneously spun around, scrambling to escape. Dopey and Happy smacked into each other, Grumpy tripped over Doc's legs and went flying into a bush, and Sleepy twirled in circles in search of a unique route.

It was chaos.

Out of nowhere, the dwarves' progress ceased and every single one of them collapsed into a heap on the street. Their feet had sunk into the ground, the street melting in a pool of sticky tar that sucked them down by a good foot, preventing them from running. Most of them tried clawing their way out, their nails digging into the gravel, but it was no use. They weren't going anywhere fast.

Throughout it all, Gold stood perfectly poised and calm, hardly breaking a sweat as he summoned his magic to trap the seven dwarves.

"No one is going anywhere until I say otherwise," he thundered, his hand extended and radiating a wave of magic. Emma rolled her eyes to the clouds, even as Sneezy clamped down on her boot for leverage.

"Stop showing off," she ridiculed Gold in a bored voice.

His concentration shattered for a second and the black tar began to fade, molding together to form a street once more. With a wet suctioning noise, the dwarves' legs unearthed from the street. Flecks of gravel coated their pants, but they were free to stand.

Or somewhat free, since their muscles were the equivalent of Jell-O.

"If I were showing off, Emma, you'd be the first to know it. That is hardly the extent of my magic," he said, his hand dropping away to his side. Emma blocked his view of the dwarves, particularly Grumpy's fierce stare that threatened dynamite, pickaxes, and who knew what else were in those mines.

"We already know they're following us because of my father. Right?" Emma barked at the dwarves over her shoulder. It seemed they weren't too keen on challenging her, either. Each one offered up a slight guilty nod. "If you're going to restrain anyone in quicksand, then try Charming."

Gold's brow furrowed as he absorbed her insinuation. Then he shrugged loosely, a new spark of inspiration glowing in the depths of his brown eyes.

"So be it. I always wanted to watch Charming squirm his way out of quicksand," he declared, swiftly turning his back to the dwarves. Emma berated herself by smacking a hand to her forehead. What had she been thinking?

"I didn't mean literally!" But Gold was already walking on and there was no choice but to start moving her feet unless she wanted to be dragged. "Let's hope he knows that squirming will make him drown faster."

….

Forget the escalator this time. Emma half-escorted, half-dragged God up the stairs, never stopping until they reached the landing that contained her parents' apartment. He was still clutching his side shakily and wheezing when she rapped her knuckles demandingly on the door.

"I was….about to….install….an elevator," he gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. His hand flew to his leg—it was probably hurting something fierce.

Emma wondered how knotted his bad leg was from that intense stair-climbing. Maybe she would be nice and massage it at home. Record screech. Time out. _What are you thinking?_ Emma mentally scolded herself. _Since when is Gold's pink house home to you?_

The door opened to reveal Snow dressed in loose faded jeans and an oversized cardigan; her relaxation outfit. She hadn't been expecting them, obviously. Perfect white teeth chewed on her bottom lip as she sensed Emma's boiling behavior.

"Emma, I didn't know you were going to make it. I would have set out another plate for dinner. Or two, actually. Hello, Rumpelstiltskin," she politely greeted with sparkling doe eyes, the kind that cute puppies try on their owners when they're hoping to be cuddled instead of scorned for something they inadvertently did.

Gold offered a genuine nod in Snow's direction, short though it was. Why did he always seem to have a soft spot for her mother? What went on in that other realm before she was born? There went the jealousy again, veering her mind off its tracks. There was no time for it.

"Where is he?"

Emma checked over Snow's shoulder, but the apartment seemed too quiet and empty. There were only so many places a prince could hide in Storybrooke. Snow maintained an innocent aura, though she gulped nervously and wrung her hands together.

"Henry is upstairs doing his homework," she responded. They both knew that was not the person in question.

Emma gave her mother a critical stare, the hard stony _don't-play-games-with-me_ sort that she'd used more than once as a bounty hunter. Snow lowered her eyes a fraction under the bleak pressure of those fiery emeralds and Emma instantly knew he was still here, somewhere.

She shoved her way into the apartment with Gold tagging along behind. It was just in time to catch Charming winding his way down the hallway, whistling _Whistle While You Work._ He was damp from a recent shower, heavy stains of water discoloring his shirt. He failed to notice their presence due to the towel he was vigorously drying his hair with.

"Hey, Snow, I think we might have to get someone to fix our shower. The water kept turning cold and that kind of temperature doesn't bode well for my—" Finally, he whipped the towel over his shoulder and froze as he glimpsed Emma standing in his way. "Jewels," he finished half-heartedly, much to his own embarrassment.

As if Emma somehow never targeted him with her searing gaze, he began to slink back down the hallway. Apparently, it was safer in the shower.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where exactly are you going?" Emma snapped to his back, the shoulder blades rigid with tension.

Slowly, Charming rotated to face his daughter, a sheepish smile fixed in place. Snow clasped her hands in front of her as she prepared for the inevitable. Gold ducked his head close to Emma's ear.

"Is it time for the quicksand?" He spread his digits for emphasis, stretching them in anticipation of their otherworldly use. Emma swatted him away impatiently, to which he scowled. He would take that as a no.

"You had your dwarves follow me? Follow us?"

She jerked her thumb to Gold's chest. The way he pinched his nose suggested he disapproved of the manner in which she was dragging him into this conversation. Or perhaps he was mocking Charming's natural scent.

"First of all, they are not _our_ dwarves, Emma. Grumpy never listens to a word I say. Second of all, I just wanted to be sure you were alright. I hardly slept last night because of my worry for you," Charming argued, using those crystal blue eyes to penetrate Emma's solid walls. Gold muttered something about '_poor princey_.'

No sympathy there.

"It's true. You have no idea how many times I ended up on the floor," Snow added, rubbing a brown bruise on the base of her elbow. Gold made a low _hmph,_ loud enough to earn the spotlight.

"Pity. Emma and I slept heavenly," he boasted, never removing his eyes from Emma's face.

His fingers twitched as though he longed to reach out and touch her. Charming swiveled in outrage, seeking out the handcuffs. He sighed upon establishing they were still there—whether he was forlorn or relieved, Emma had no clue. Maybe a mixture of both.

"As I told you last night, I don't need special protection. I've been taking care of myself for twenty-eight years. I'm pretty sure I've mastered it. And I don't need seven little men trailing behind me with binoculars because you're concerned about my sex life."

Charming's face paled with every syllable. She hoped that homework was tough enough to keep Henry busy—he didn't need to hear this discussion. The silence was suffocating until Snow cleared her throat.

"Emma, Rumpelstiltskin, would you like to stay for hot cocoa? Extra cinnamon and whipped cream," her mother dangled the hook, if only to ease the uncomfortable situation to a level that was tolerable.

Gold's interest peaked at the idea of free cocoa, especially by Snow's making, but Emma had other plans entirely. Staying here another minute with her overprotective father didn't sound so delightful.

"Can't. Gold's taking me out for dinner tonight," she announced out of the blue.

It was partly her intention to defy her father's actions in keeping tabs on her and it had worked. The other reason was because Gold wanted to keep his word in courting her, but it was clear he hadn't courted anyone in a long time. This gave him the opportunity.

The towel landed on the floor with a wet plop. Snow's hand lifted to her mouth in unadulterated shock, the kind of disbelief when someone gets hit by a bus right in front of you. Gold lost the serene façade and whirled in her direction, the chain rattling as he stumbled and was forced to grip the back of a chair to maintain his balance.

"Am I?" Emma shot him a serious look. _Play along and I promise it will be worth your while,_ it read. Straightening up into a confident posture, he smoothed a palm down his charcoal suit, ensuring its impeccable nature. "Ah, yes. Of course I am. How foolish of me to forget such an important date."

A pattern of hurried footsteps sounded in the loft above their heads. A second later, Henry poked his head over the railing, excitement soaring off his body in overwhelming waves.

"You two are going on a _date?_ Hah, I knew it! Leroy owes me ten dollars! Arcade, here I come," he exclaimed, thrusting his fist in the air. Emma's face burned up. Snow strode across the room until she got Henry in her line of sight.

"Not until your homework's done, Henry," she warned. But Henry was already on the third step of the stairs, a thousand curious questions leaping out of his mouth. Emma was certain she had already missed ten of them. Even Gold was perplexed.

"Did you bring her flowers? Or chocolates? Are you two riding in a limo? Why isn't Emma wearing a dress? You are taking her somewhere nice, right? Are you going to dance? How about kissing? Or did you two already kiss? Admit it," Henry fired away. The raw red hue of Emma's neck must have given it away. Henry grinned while Snow ushered him up the stairs. She shifted her head to catch Emma's eye and mouthed the words: _you kissed? _Emma cautiously flashed two fingers by her side, making Snow gasp aloud. _Twice. _

"Homework, Henry. Then you can interrogate your mother all you want." Henry happily returned to his homework, conjuring up multiple fantastical ideas about their proposed date.

Charming pressed a hand to his chest. Snow rushed forward in alarm, but he patiently waved her off. He was simply baffled by the fact that Emma was having a date with Gold. She didn't want to know how he would act if she revealed that Gold was planning to court her.

"Shall we be heading off, dear? I doubt those special reservations on the balcony, roses, violinists, and personal foot masseuse will wait forever," Gold insisted, holding out his arm in invitation. Emma gratefully accepted it, curling her hand around his arm as though they were a true couple.

Charming's skin was slick with a translucent sheen of sweat. He was performing some form of breathing technique—_hee-hee-hoo, hee-hee-hoo..._

"Do us a favor and tell the dwarves not to accompany us to the restaurant. It won't be much of an evening with seven pairs of eyes peering across the room at us over their menus," Emma requested as Gold led her to the door. He made a show of fixing his flawless tie. It was a good thing he always dressed for the occasion.

"I agree whole-heartedly with my lovely date. I'm not the type of man who endures double dates," he said, rolling his shoulders languorously.

Snow held the door open for them, her eyes radiant as she transferred a mute message to Emma about whether she was making the right choice. In answer, Emma readjusted her hold on Gold's arm more firmly. Her mother slightly dipped her dark head to show her understanding.

Well, at least one parent supported her decision.

"Emma, please don't do this. Not without considering the consequences of what you're driving into. Wait, let's talk this out as a family," Charming pleaded, marching after them. Snow met him halfway and caught him by the arm, restraining him back. Her petal-soft lips parted with only one string of words being allowed release.

"The heart wants what it wants," she advised.

Emma reeled her head back in awe. It seemed her mother had already accepted what was likely to come for her daughter. From that logic, Snow was defending the connection she had made with Gold. It made the light in Charming's ocean-blue eyes dim a shade or two, but he argued no more. Above all, he wanted Emma's happiness.

She thanked him with a sincere tip of her sunshine-shaded head.

"You two enjoy your cocoa," Gold lilted, one final note before he and Emma departed. Her mind struggled to sort through the disarray of troubling thoughts, but she tiredly shoved them aside for now. She had a date to look forward to.

"Does this mean you and I will forget visiting the fairies?" Gold seemed to beg her as he studied her closely. He never got along well with the fairies, which meant he also didn't get along well with nuns, either. Emma flicked her wrist.

"I always figured fairies were vastly overrated."

The darkened lust in his eyes made her snicker. It was a rare moment where the contents of Gold's mind had propped open like an ancient book of secrets: _I'm falling hard for this woman. _

"So, I have a balcony, roses, violinists, _and_ a foot masseuse waiting for me, huh?" It wasn't like it was out of Gold's price range. Still, he scoffed audibly in the manner of _in-your-dreams._ The book snapped closed and was replaced on a very high shelf.

"Perhaps if you had warned me that I was taking you out for a night on the town, I'd have time to arrange those delicacies for you. I'm afraid you'll have to stick with mindless chatter and my own fingers carrying out the massage," he said, wiggling his fingers in eagerness. She would bet a cold one hundred dollars of cash that Gold's massages were worthy of royalty. "Where is it I'm taking you?"

Emma shrugged as they trudged down the stairs. Even without the fancy décor and additions, this would be courting nonetheless.

"Surprise me." He seemed to take it as a challenge.

"Very well….but can we take the escalator down?"

…

As Sheriff of an enchanted town, Emma had seen plenty of strange things. She'd seen a drunken Leroy climb his way to the top of Granny's roof and shout _I'm the king of the world! _She'd seen a game of magic chess between Gold and the Blue Fairy that made the one in Harry Potter look cheap in comparison. She'd seen dragons and true love.

Emma had seen a lot…but she had never seen a horse parked where her Bug used to be. And this wasn't a simple pony, either. This was a true, mountain-sized horse. Someone—maybe Charming—must have dyed its fur. The horse was yellow.

Ah, there was her Bug, sitting right behind the horse. Wonderful.

Everyone who passed by on the street, whether it was on foot or in a car, gaped in sheer amazement at the odd-colored horse. The animal snorted as if to say: _What are you staring at, folks? There's nothing to see here. _

Then the most shocking thing happened. The horse turned black. Emma stumbled back and her elbow bumped into Gold's chest. His hands clamped on her shoulders to steady her. If she went down, she was taking him with her.

"Am I losing it or is that horse changing colors?"

Gold's eyes flickered to the mighty creature, though his expression remained unreadable. He could see the horse…right? Was she having some kind of trippy hallucination? Was it a side-effect from the cuffs? But everyone else on the street had no problem noticing the horse. Either they were all sharing the same delusion or Gold was the one with the problem.

And yet she sensed his amusement, dripping off his suit like beads of water.

"You've managed to successfully break the curse and yet these occurrences still come as a surprise to you," he mused as he led her to the horse. He trained his undivided focus on her Bug and, with a sharp crackle of magic, it shifted into an open carriage. Gold gestured to the wooden step and extended his palm to assist her into the carriage.

Show-off.

"I don't think overuse of magic qualifies as courting," Emma taunted, but accepted the support of his hand, anyway. He lumbered in awkwardly after her, the chain of the handcuffs dragging him along. With an abrupt rise of its dark head and a deep whinny, the horse began to trot down the middle of Storybrooke's main street.

Blue, violet, orange…the horse seemed to change colors every fifteen seconds. A notion of familiarity nudged Emma's brain, flowering into a long-lost memory.

"Is this…the horse from _Wizard of Oz? _The horse of a different color?"

It had been years since she last saw the movie—even longer since she read the book—but that detail had always thrilled her as a child. Gold rolled his cane between his knees, his body bouncing with the rhythm of the horse's movements.

"He has a name, you know. It's Skittles," Gold more or less confirmed her suspicion. Emma gave him a skeptical look, but he adamantly stuck to his story. Skittles the color-changing horse. Now whenever she paid a visit to a vending machine, she would recall this evening.

Without warning, Gold's demeanor became bothered, anxious.

"Ah, ah, ah! Red light!" To Emma's disbelief, the horse actually backed up over the line, his head angled toward the streetlight above like an impatient driver waiting for the light to change. He snorted in Gold's direction, clearly arguing the point. "I don't care how much of a hurry you're in today. If you stroll your merry arse into oncoming traffic and get turned into horse radish, I'll never hear the end of it from Jefferson. Don't know why he's so fond of you—you're making me colorblind!"

Gold rubbed his eyes as they waited for the light to turn green. Never mind that there was virtually never any traffic in Storybrooke. The horse's hoof pawed the street, revving its muscular engines. Emma tilted her head curiously as the Skittles' fur brightened, becoming redder and redder by the second under the glow of the streetlight.

The light flashed green, but so did the horse.

"What, is it a chameleon, too?" Gold lifted his head from his hand and smiled appraisingly, waiting for her to solve a taxing puzzle.

"It's not the strangest creature in Oz. You forget that world is equipped with flying monkeys and back-talking trees. Why do you think the horse kept changing colors in the Emerald City? Bustling crowds of odd people in funny-colored clothes…Skittles got confused."

The horse huffed on cue, apparently verifying Gold's claim. Emma supposed it should be lucky it didn't sparkle from those ruby slippers.

She examined the town as it went by, covering her face as people gawked at the sight of their guide. Still, this wasn't quite so bad. It was nice. The sky started flooding with brilliant shades of orange and red as the sun went down, a marvelous sight to behold. An evening breeze picked up, aiming directly for her exposed neck. She shivered.

Emma readjusted the collar of her leather jacket, hoping that Gold would not notice her moment of vulnerability while at the same time knowing that he would not miss such a crucial detail.

"Cold?"

Before she could answer with the modern excuse of _I'm fine, _Gold retrieved something from the bottom of the carriage. It was a wool blanket, which he gently wrapped around her shoulders. She took advantage of the extra layer, tucking it around her neck, but it didn't block out the steadily increasing chill.

"Here, come closer to me. My body heat will warm you."

As he maneuvered his arms in an inviting arc, Emma willingly slid across the cushioned bench until her body curled against Gold's side. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the space between his shoulder and neck. Their imprisoned hands wove together under the folds of the blanket and she absorbed his warmth greedily. Her other hand found his chest, her palm pressing flat over the spot where his heart lay.

Her eyes drifted peacefully closed as she savored this moment. Gold's lips lightly brushed the crown of her head, placing a delicate kiss there. The trotting of the horse rocked her, occasionally urging her more tightly against Gold.

Miraculously, the wind died down to a low whisper, barely enough to tickle her nose. She briefly wondered if Gold had orchestrated this. Then she decided that she was far too satisfied to care.

….

There were not many places to eat dinner in Storybrooke—it all boiled down to Granny's diner or The Rabbit Hole, a bar that sold absolutely nothing but the cheapest beer, featured too loud rock music, and hosted endless games of pool, gambling being a priority. Gold must not have been much of a pool player since he chose the lesser of two evils.

Then again, the reminder of Granny chasing them straight out of her Inn earlier today made Emma question that theory.

Their date was doomed to be awkward from the start. Like a genuine couple, they occupied seats across from one another in a cozy booth in the corner. Of course, it meant having to leave their hands on the table with the handcuffs in full view. Well, since they had more or less revealed their sticky predicament to the world, it'd be pointless to try to hide it now.

But did they all have to stare so profusely?

The attention seemed to swerve in their direction from the minute their feet strode across the threshold. In a diner bursting with Granny's specials, no one was eating. They were too busy watching the show. Whispers circulated the room, the rumor mill churning at high speed.

Last Emma heard, she was getting paid by the hour by Gold to wear those cuffs so that he could improve his sex appeal. And that wasn't even the craziest theory out there.

"Ignore them, dearie," Gold murmured without looking up from the menu. It was amazing that the man didn't have that entire menu memorized after 28 years.

Emma tried focusing on her menu, but the words were a bunch of blurred black lines. She couldn't rid her body of the intrusive sensation of lurking eyes roving over her skin. Huffing, she glared at every person within the vicinity of their table, which caused them to drop their heads in shame.

Shame that they got caught, not that they were rudely staring in the first place. It was only temporary.

Underneath the table, something prodded the side of her foot. It was Gold's shoe, fumbling over her own boot. His foot tapped insistently against the side of her boot, trying to gauge a reaction.

"What are you doing?"

The last time she'd played footsies with anyone was with a boy in first grade during playtime and that was only because she wanted his Twinkies. Briefly, Gold's eyes flickered away from the menu. The prodding became harder to ignore.

"Distracting you," he declared in an obvious tone, as if he announced that the sky was blue or that Regina would never survive in a convent. At least he was trying to ease the situation.

Emma nudged his foot in return, just to satisfy his antics. It made that slippery smile slide over his lips, the one that always coiled her stomach in a good way. She wanted so much to be absorbed in Gold, his foot directing her focus as a conductor would lead an orchestra…

Too bad it wasn't working.

Soon, the stares and whispers got to be too much and Emma brutally slapped her menu down on the table. She twisted her body around in her seat, the chain yanking across the surface of the table.

"If you're all looking for a show, I suggest you try the drive-in," she snapped impatiently.

Every single pair of wandering eyes lowered to their plates, their utensils pretending to pick apart orders of steak and chocolate cake. It was the same give-and-take method as before. Eventually, they were going to do it again. And again. It was the life of a provincial town where everyone knew everyone else's business and cast certain unlucky folks in the spotlight.

"If it bothers you so much, why not sit next to me?" Gold suggested, motioning to the vacant remainder of his side of the booth. Emma and Gold slid out of the booth and he allowed her to scoot her way inside. He pushed in after her and there they sat, their hips brushing together. "There we are. Now the only way these civilized people will gawk at you like an attractive exhibit is if they are willing to feast their eyes on my dashing good looks first."

It seemed Gold's good looks were a tad bit too dashing—or menacing—for the sake of Storybrooke's citizens. With a single sweeping glare from Gold, people took intense interest in their cooling dinners. And it stayed that way.

Emma was suddenly grateful to be having dinner with the town's most fearsome resident. Only now she would have to find a way to repay him the favor. A devilish grin pulled the corners of her mouth as her hand crept toward his thigh.

That sore leg of his must be in dire need of loosening up.

Gold's concentration on the menu broke with the swiftness of melting ice and he elicited a sharp intake of breath as Emma slowly began to knead his thigh, her fingers soothing the dreadful ache from that hidden scar. The menu drifted from his hands, his head tilting back to the cushion of the booth once the massaging grew more frequent in rhythm. His eyelids fluttered closed in bliss.

A deep groan rose from his throat and his palm gripped the edge of the table as he rode out his wave of pleasure. The realization that he was enjoying it immensely inspired Emma to work harder in removing the knots, even though she never glanced up from her menu. Squeeze, release, squeeze a tiny bit harder, release, s_queeze…_

It took her by surprise when his clammy hand clamped down over hers, trapping it flat against his thigh. The pressure of his nails in her skin was almost desperate. His breath came in low, rough pants but he was fighting back the urge to let her continue on her way.

"What are you doing, Emma? Other than driving me mad?"

She had underestimated the range of effect she had on his nerves. Wholly and completely, she was his undoing. At this point, if she demanded that he sink down onto his knees before her, he wasn't sure he would decline.

"What does it look like? I'm giving you that massage you wanted," she admitted matter-of-factly.

For a long moment, he gazed down at her, neither of their hands parting from his thigh. Then, with a soft whoosh of air from his lungs, he released her hand. And the massaging started again.

Ooh, that was extraordinary. He had always believed he had the magic touch, but tonight that title was being passed to Emma. The way she applied pressure in all the right places, her fingers curving neatly over his thigh as if they belonged there…part of him…

Red flitted over, a decorative crimson pixie with her flashy pink bangles in the shape of hearts swinging from her ears and stylish red boots that must have cost a fortune from whatever cash she saved up from working extra shifts. She waved a little candy heart in their faces: _hello. _

The bet must be going strong.

Gold barely noticed when Red tapped her fuzzy-topped pen on her pad of paper to request their order. He was too caught up in the way Emma's hand dipped along his inner thigh. Red tapped again and produced a sigh that said: _I don't have all night. _

"I'll have the…_ooh_…oh…so good," he moaned under his heavy breath after Emma squeezed his thigh teasingly. Red eyed him suspiciously while he traced his lips with his tongue. He adjusted the collar of his shirt—it was quite warm in this diner. "The…hamburger sounds good. You know how I like it."

He whisked his menu at her, but Emma knew it was an attempt to deflect Red's scrutiny from the odd color clouding his shaven jaw. Red nodded with another heart message: _you bet. _Then she glanced over at Emma.

"I'll have what he's having," Emma said, handing Red the menu more politely than Gold. This time a yellow heart spoke to them in crooked pink script: _BRB. _Red paused before hurrying off and thrust another heart from her pocket while pointing at the cuffs.

_Be good. _Wink, wink.

SweetHearts were never so dangerous as they were in the hands of Red.

Emma removed her hand from Gold's leg before he started clawing the table in need. She checked his condition—still pink in the jaw—and noticed him staring pointedly at something. At least, she hoped it was something and not some_one. _

She followed his line of sight to an oversized construction paper poster on the wall behind the bar. It was the flyer for the Valentine's Day festival being held in the town square tomorrow evening. As though he sensed her thoughts following his trail, he dropped his eyes to the scratched up checkerboard tabletop, his nail tracing a deep groove.

Still, she continued to examine that poster from where she sat and wished she could get a glimpse into Gold's mind right now. Was he contemplating asking her to join him at the festival? It made her feel giddy and nervous inside, like a teenage girl being asked to the prom. It was only a silly festival, not much better than the one this town held for Miner's Day. Hardly a night worth swooning over.

But it could be nice.

Was he trying to summon up the courage to ask her at this moment? Was he having his doubts? Or did he simply assume it was a waste of time and money altogether? For all she knew, he had been thinking that the diner needed new wallpaper.

Every now and again, she chanced a glance his way from the corner of her eye. He was unnaturally stiff in his seat, his free arm extended over the tabletop with his thumb rubbing absently over the nail of his forefinger. His brown eyes bore into the tabletop without truly seeing it. He was lost in deep thought, struggling through an internal battle.

He was going to ask her…He was going to ask her…

"Emma…" He cleared his throat and started tentatively. Her shoulders perked up, a funny fluttering whirling about in her stomach. This would be another step-up to their courting.

"Yes, of course," she blurted out without thinking.

His face contorted with wild bemusement. Was that too forward? Should she have waited for him to ask the question? Now he was all sorts of frantic. _Good job, Emma, _she scolded her pettiness. _Lots of skill in the dating department, sarcasm intended. Now he's probably reconsidering. _

"Of course," he repeated, his hand inching forward on the table. She gazed at it numbly. Was he expecting her to leave without their food? Start preparing for the festival tonight? He looked so expectant…Wait…_What did I agree to? _

"What…were you talking about…exactly?"

A cold sweat broke out over her forehead. How could she possibly forget that this was the infamous dealmaker? It was one thing to not read the contracts; it was another to dive headfirst into the pool of sharks before even claiming the pen. With her luck, she just agreed to stripping down to a bikini and dancing the hula on the street to ensure more business for his shop.

Oh, she had been too presumptuous this time. Gold averted his eyes, his palm trembling. Great, now he was embarrassed.

"I meant to ask you…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. Maybe all wasn't lost. _Yes? _"…if you would pass me the dessert list." He pointed to a smaller laminated menu flapping behind the napkin dispenser.

Oh. Of course. He was treating his abominable sweet tooth. Nothing wrong with that, right? Certainly nothing close to a silly festival. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _she cursed in her mind as she handed him the menu. He scrutinized her carefully, using his _peeking-into-your-soul _look.

"What did _you_ think I was talking about?"

Emma busied her hands with grabbing an overload of napkins from the dispenser. She began folding one in the manner of Origami, when what she really wanted to do was mutilate the napkin until it was a pile of confetti.

"Nothing."

…

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

How could he possibly chicken out when he had just managed to convince himself to ask her? He had the entire line memorized in his head, repeating the question over and over until it sounded right. Until it sounded charming.

_Emma, would you like to go with me to the Valentine's Day festival? Emma, you've never been to the Valentine's Day festival and I, for one, would love to show you around. Emma, baby…you and me…festival at three? _

Instead, he made an excuse about wanting to see the dessert list. How pathetic was that? Their burgers hadn't even come yet—probably weren't even sizzling on the grill. Emma possessed good instincts. She had to know this was a ploy, but she went on folding that napkin and being none the wiser.

Gods, he was such a coward.

That poster was mocking him. He had the urge to run right over there and tear it down. Everyone in town would be attending that festival tomorrow evening. Hell, even Henry was going with the hatter's daughter, Grace. If a boy like him could gather the strength to ask his crush to join him, surely he could pose the question to Emma.

But then again, he was born into the Charming family line. It made all the difference. Strength and purity were as effortless to them as shadowy deal-making and manipulation was for him. That family line bred lions while his bred black sheep.

No, enough self-loathing. There had to be a shred of strength in his bones, right? He had to stop worrying about the thousands of possible outcomes and just do it.

Yes, he was going to go ahead and do it. He inhaled a deep breath to soothe his unsettled nerves. This was it—he could do this. He _would_ do this. The image was crystal clear in his head: he would forget about the menu, turn to Emma, open his mouth, and say…

Damn.

But what if she said no? He would look foolish, getting his hopes up only to have them dashed in front of the entire diner. Why not offer his free time to washing dishes for Granny as well? That would be less tragic. He had learned a long time ago that getting your hopes up only invited disappointment.

However, Emma had willingly showered with him this morning. She had seen everything he had to offer and she did not recoil or show disgust in any way. Or was he reading too much into it and it truly was for time management purposes? Every time he had taunted her about secretly wanting it was more along the lines of him hoping, wishing it was true. A projection of his own feeble desires.

No, she wanted him. He had felt it in every pore of his body this morning while they shared a kiss under the warm stream of water. So, why was he hesitating?

This time he would do it, no turning back. Time to be brave. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. He would ask her. Right now, before he had a chance to change his mind. Right _now…_

"Emma, there's something I need to ask you," he rushed forward, clamping onto her arm. She didn't pull away like most women would. If anything, she leaned into his touch. He wondered if that was merely instinctual.

"Yeah?" The balled-up napkin—was that supposed to be a duck?—bounced onto the table.

Her head tilted to the side, the blonde strands glowing in the evening sun. Even though her green orbs were critical and fiery, her eyelashes were soft feathers batting over her rosy cheeks. Her lips were puckered tightly and he vividly recalled the way that luscious mouth had opened wide to him the night before, hot and sweet and tasting of wine.

She made his chest ache with longing, the spot over his heart throbbing.

"Emma…would you care to…attend the Valentine's Day festival with me?"

There, it was out. All that was left to anticipate was her answer. His knuckles hurt from the pressure of his fingers curling into his palm. If she rejected his offer…it just might shatter him to pieces.

"Now that you mention it, there's a man I had in mind of going with," she said.

_Crack. _The sound of his heart splintering must have been piercing enough for the whole town to hear.

His mind was numb as he translated her meaning. She was letting him down not so gently; she didn't want to go with him. He should have known. It was even worse with these handcuffs. He was doomed to be a third wheel. It was pitiful for him to hope otherwise. Trailing behind like her long-lost shadow, watching her smile and laugh and be happy with another man.

"Oh…of course…right…"

He tried to cover up the fierce whiplash, but even he heard the distinct misery etched in his voice, making it grainy as sandpaper. It felt like someone viciously stuck a burning fireplace poker down his throat, scorching his lungs. His breath came in quick rasps through the nose as he swallowed the pain.

"He's an older man," she continued nonchalantly, as if she were blissfully unaware of the agony he was squirming with. Or was she intentionally rubbing salt in the wound?

It didn't surprise him that Emma fancied older men; she must be attracted to him to wear these cuffs. Yet, it didn't stop her from broadening her horizons, did it?

The seat groaned under her weight as she leaned forward, peering at the dessert menu over his arm.

"Apparently, he's a lawyer," she pointed out. Oh, sure—always the ambitious type. Go for the man with the deep pockets. She did deserve the best, after all. Someone who would keep her satisfied and wanting for nothing. Someone who would treat her right. "He dresses really nice, too. Wears great cologne. Has a thing for whipped cream and cherries…"

Didn't this mystery man sound charming? Dark fantasies threatened to unfurl in his mind about everything he would do with whipped cream and cherries if only he were the man Emma were talking about. Slathering it over her skin, sharing a bright red cherry between their lips, the juice running down their chin as they gave a whole meaning to the phrase _popping the cherry. _

An uncomfortable pressure at his midsection convinced him to swipe away the fantasy and store it deep in the recesses of his mind. Next Emma would be bragging about his Harvard degree.

Gods, he couldn't even look at the dessert menu anymore.

"Come to think of it, if I turn my head to the right, I find myself looking at him." That caught his attention. The temptation to seek out the object of Emma's affection was too great to ignore.

He turned his head to the right and scanned the diner, taking note of all male specimens. Dr. Whale? No, he wasn't a lawyer; just a doctor in this world and a mad scientist in the last. Sidney? Hah, that was a joke and a half. Emma wouldn't touch Regina's play toy with a ten foot pole.

So, then who….?

He turned back to her to demand an explanation for this riddling nonsense and stopped dead when he realized her gaze had never wandered. She was staring directly at him, drumming her nails on the tabletop as she waited for him to catch up. It hit him like a ton of bricks and in his mind's eye he visualized himself being flattened under the weight like one of those old cartoons.

Oh. She meant…

"Me?" He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his heart thudding against his open palm.

An older man, a lawyer, the fondness of whipped cream and cherries…how had he missed it? And she did admit last night that she liked his cologne, did she not? He had been so wrapped up in the jealous thought of Emma being with someone else that he hadn't considered the obvious.

Emma playfully slapped his arm with the dessert menu. He deserved that for being so terribly, emotionally thick.

"Who else would I be talking about, Gold? The DA?" Now _that _was a disturbing thought to behold. DA Spencer was nowhere near Emma's style, or any other woman's, for that matter.

It was a good thing Spencer refused to eat among the "common folk" of Storybrooke. If he had been sipping wine and cutting up steak in the diner—unlikely—Gold might have assumed him as the culprit and introduced ole King George to his cane. But since he wasn't here, it saved Gold from getting kicked out via Granny's crossbow.

And he had no clue how Emma would manage to arrest him and lock him in a jail cell at the station for assault when she herself was cuffed to his wrist.

"Who better to go with than the person I'm handcuffed to?" Emma placed their conjoined hands on the table, the ancient chain seeming even more discolored under the diner's milky lights. "Just because we're stuck together doesn't mean we have to miss out on the occasion, right? If the offer still stands…?"

How could he say no when he was still lounging back in his seat with relief? He sought out her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Of course," he confirmed and then it was settled. They were attending the Valentine's Day festival, whether the town liked it or not. Who knew? Maybe there would be a greater turnout this year if people were interested in gawking at Storybrooke's Chained-Up Couple. "If you and I weren't handcuffed together, would you still accept my offer?"

Emma's face became a blank slab as she thought about it.

"I might have. It was brave of you to ask me. It would make me brave enough to say yes."

Gold wondered how Charming would react when he saw him dancing with Emma in his arms or having their photo taken in one of those silly photo booths. If he was lucky, the valiant prince would be too busy trying hopelessly to win Snow one of those massive teddy bears from a carnival game.

Their food arrived a few minutes later—two of Granny's mouth-watering burgers with a generous helping of salted French fries. Gold immediately poured a lake-sized glob of ketchup on the edge of his plate. He watched Emma curiously as she was content with drizzling it over her fries, a red rainstorm. He made a note to try it her way sometime.

He flipped the top bun of his burger, only to move aside the lettuce and tomato and see that Granny was serious as ever about the lack of pickles. Silently, he pouted. _See what happens when you get your hopes up? _

A finger poked his arm, attempting to gain his attention. Emma was cupping something in her palm and handing it over to him. She spread her fingers further apart so he could peer inside her palm.

Pickles.

"I don't like pickles on my burger," she insisted, extending her hand further toward his plate. Both were very much aware that it was a lie. But still Emma gestured for him to take the pickles.

Gingerly, he lifted them from her palm and positioned them in a circle on his burger. He took a grand bite and closed his eyes in amazement as he chewed. Oh, that tasted so good. It had been a while since he last ate a burger with pickles due to the extra cost.

This…this was a piece of happiness, a perfect ending to his day.

"What do I owe you for this?"

Surely, this token of happiness had a price. Everything had a price. Emma smiled around her burger, a tempting spot of ketchup gracing her lip. Her tongue darted out to lick it away. Her green eyes glimmered with the unfolding of an idea.

"Save me a dance." Deal. And he took another bite.

…

Big thanks to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, discotimelord, Ashamalee, JayJ, secretballetdancer, Numbah 12, PrincessofSea, la-stella-immortale, AngelofDarkness1605, Newland Archer, cat4444, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, ParanormalMoonlight, BundyShoes, Moonlight-Wanderer88, Musicalfan2012, and SwanQueen4055.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! Here is a fabulous chapter for you. I really did enjoy writing this one and I hope you enjoy reading it as much. **_

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Gold announced upon tying the knot in his apron and slapping a black frying pan on the stove.

Emma had insisted that she wasn't hungry—normally, she never ate anything but a donut or two—but he wouldn't hear any of it. Stubborn as she was, if not more, he decreed that they weren't leaving the house until he at least had his fill. Knowing his tricks, he would eat deliberately slow to guilt her in not joining him.

"How educational. Are you volunteering to give inspirational speeches to the children in Snow's class, too?" He flipped her a critical look. Always so black and white, his attitude. Maybe he could proclaim all the ways to avoid becoming a limping imp or let the children play with his cane. "Well, you already know I like blueberry pancakes and eggs sunny-side up."

He twisted a knob on the stove, eliciting a thin hiss as it heated up. His hand rested on the carton of eggs, but he made no move to crack one open. Instead, he grinned at Emma, his gold-capped tooth gleaming in the early morning rays of the sun.

The wily scent of mischief hung in the air like a bad odor.

Oh, no. She knew that look. Throughout the past few days, she had learned to decode his various expressions and mannerisms to a tee and that one…that one meant straight-up deviousness. That was his _I'm-about-to-do-something-epic _look. She gulped nervously.

"That's valuable information, I agree. Only problem is: I'm not the chef today. You are," he declared, pointing an elegant finger at her chest. Somehow, Emma sensed that there was no Rachel Ray or Emeril coincidentally standing in the room. Just her.

"What? Me, cook breakfast? Alone? You're joking, right?" Emma let out a dry, half-hearted sputter that was meant to be a laugh, but Gold failed to reciprocate. His face was stoic as ever. Oh, he was serious.

"Last time I checked, it's not April Fools' Day," he replied with unabashed amusement. He beckoned for Emma to come closer by hooking a finger in a purposeful _come-hither _gesture, but her feet rooted to the kitchen floor. There were only a few things she was exceptionally skilled at in this world. Cooking wasn't one of them.

He must have noticed her internal distress, for he gently reeled her in by the chain binding them together.

"Come here, Emma. I'll teach you," he proposed.

Emma found her feet stumbling forward despite her mind's incessant protests about cooking. Gold positioned her body in front of the stove, inches apart from his own. His lips teased her ear through her wild mane of golden waves while his free hand stroked its way down her arm. His fingers thrummed against the exposed skin of her wrist. Ever so precisely, he lifted her wrist and directed her hand to take the handle of the frying pan.

Her heart drummed painfully in her chest as his hand fell from her wrist, leaving her to her own devices. Frantically, she switched the frying pan handle to her free hand, though it was shaking as badly as her other one. This was definitely beyond her area of expertise.

"Relax, dearie. Listen to me. I will assist you through this. It's quite simple, really. All it takes is practice, as with every other acquired skill in this world," he murmured into the shell of her ear. Emma could feel the sensation of Gold's hot breath on her neck—it was distracting. "Shall we begin?"

Popping open the lid of the egg carton, his fingers hovered over the rows of pale brown-shelled eggs waiting to be fried. He selected one at the end farthest from the pan and carefully pried it from its casing, cradling it as caringly as he would a newborn child. She cupped her palm to accept it and he gazed deeply into her eyes as he entrusted the delicate egg to her care.

He took up his original position, looming over her shoulder and sending sensible chills across the nape of her neck. A shiver skated down her spine once she sensed his lips hanging inches above the collar of her pajama shirt.

"Now…crack it open. Tap it on the rim of the frying pan," he instructed softly.

Emma blew a stray strand of hair off her forehead. She knew how to crack open an egg; it wasn't rocket science. But her nerves must have been sizzling worse than the pan since she ended up striking the egg a tiny bit harder than necessary. A thin fissure appeared on the surface of the shell, splitting it open…and then the contents spilled over her hand. Cool, thick yolk dripped over her skin, hissing as it fell onto the burning stove.

Gold frowned as he handed her a paper towel.

"Sorry," she mumbled almost incoherently.

"Don't apologize to me, sweetheart. Apologize to the poor, innocent egg you just shattered to smithereens." He waved the matter off, but she could tell he was astounded in his own right. He had clearly overestimated her cooking ability.

He pulled up another egg from the carton, but hesitated before placing it in her palm. From the shocked expression on his face, he was mourning that lost egg and debating whether to sacrifice another one to the same fate. Her hand quivered impatiently, forcing him to hasten his decision-making.

"This time, Emma, I advise you to _gently _tap the frying pan. Gently. You are not a soldier at war; that egg is not a grenade meant to be thrown at your enemy, the frying pan. You are simply cooking breakfast," he emphasized.

Emma took a few practice swings, never truly hitting the edge of the pan. Gold's hand fluctuated uncertainly like that of a conductor, reminding her to be cautious. She sucked in a ragged breath, released it slowly through the nose. She could do this. _One…two…three…_

"Gentle," Gold roughly repeated in her ear, just as she was about to strike the pan. It startled her and, instead of the egg hitting the pan, her hand launched backward and it landed on the kitchen floor. A gloopy puddle of yolk marked the spot of the egg's impact.

"Gold!"

She whirled on him, narrowing her eyelids as he scowled at the mess on his floor. This time, it was all his fault. He bristled and immediately went on defense mode. It was just like him to find a way to turn the situation on its head and cast her in the spotlight.

"I was only giving you a reminder! You're the one who reacted with an unnatural case of Tourette's! For the last time, woman, _it is not a grenade!" _

Sheesh, someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. She never knew he was so passionate about cooking. Emma glared at the frying pan that had yet to receive a single egg. At first, she had been reluctant about this cooking deal. Now, she was determined to get it right.

She insistently held out her palm for another "grenade." Despite his warnings, her muscles tensed and she chose to foresee this challenge as a soldier would assess the battlefield. Gold clearly had a difficult time deciding whether it was worth another go-around. After all, it could end up on his head this time.

It was with great slowness that he placed another egg in her hand.

"Gent—"

"Gold, if you utter the word _gently _again, this egg won't be going in the frying pan. It'll be going somewhere you really wouldn't want it," she threatened, staring intentionally at the waistband of his pajama pants in the form of a hint. He bit down on his tongue, literally.

Once more, Emma positioned this egg an inch or so from the rim of the frying pan. She drew it back, preparing to strike it. Third time's the charm. The egg connected against the edge of the frying pan, as gently as she could manage. It cracked along the side and she used both hands to split it apart, the contents splatting in the pan.

She did it.

Gold released a sigh of relief and commended her with a reassuring squeeze to the elbow. It was much too irresistible to beam up at him with the victorious unspoken message: _is that gentle enough for you? _Just to prove it once more, she chose another egg from the carton and copied her successful act of breaking it open and dropping it in the pan.

"Well done, Emma," Gold praised and, before he could catch himself or reign in his excitement, captured her lips in a searing kiss.

It took her by surprise so much that she was suddenly helpless putty in his arms, her mouth subsequently opening wider for him. The kiss only lasted for a moment or two and it was obvious that Gold had been just as surprised as she was by his boldness. After it ended, they stared into each other's eyes, barely breathing.

It was only when the sizzling of the egg grew louder that they remembered the task at hand. Breakfast. Right.

"Let's move on to the pancakes."

…..

Eggs, pancakes, bacon, toast. Two plates of food sat on the table in front of them. It looked perfectly acceptable to eat, but Gold still poked the eggs with his fork. Experimentally, he speared a piece of pancake and examined it from every angle.

"Are you going to eat it or should we hire Regina as our personal food tester?" Emma watched him expectantly, her own plate cooling. Out of the two of them, Gold seemed the least bothered by putting things in his mouth.

Opening his mouth, he guided the fork in without touching his lips. It was the most grueling game of _Operation _ever. For a long, drawn-out moment, he chewed in complete silence while Emma was on the verge of biting her nails in anticipation of his reaction. The handcuffs were intact, so he wasn't dying…

And then he stopped chewing.

"Gold? How is it? Should I call up Whale?"

He didn't answer in any distinguishable way, but he swallowed the pancake. His face was a blank slate, unreadable, betraying nothing. He gazed down at his empty fork with intense scrutiny. Was he asking himself what he just ate? Or was he yearning for more?

"Emma, this is…" Horrible? Disgusting? Tasteless? As an answer to her worries, he quickly cut up another piece of pancake and thrust it deep into his mouth. His eyelids drifted closed and he moaned. "Emma, this is delicious. I must say…you've proven to be an exceptional student."

"Well, I happen to have an excellent teacher," she blurted out.

Once more, he paused in chewing his mouthful of food, but it had nothing to do with the food this time. He stared at her, wide-eyed with amazement over her blunt flirtation. It seemed neither of them could filter their emotions this morning.

The curse of Valentine's Day, in full force.

The cunning glint returned to his brown eyes, smoldering with the intensity of a flame that was impossible to smother. That lazy, all-knowing smile—the one she was seriously beginning to appreciate—slid over his lips. He licked them leisurely, savoring every ounce of flavor.

"Best eat up, Emma. Before it gets cold," he advised, angling his fork toward her plate. Together, they finished their breakfast in humble silence, leaving not even a single crumb on their plates.

….

"How about this one, then?" _Snap._

"This didn't even look good on Lady Gaga. It's a notch above her meat dress," Emma argued, refusing to touch the "dress" that hung on her body. _Flip, flip, flip…Snap!_ Another scowl from Emma. "Not this one, either. There's a reason this was called a fashion disaster, Gold."

Gold's brow furrowed as he tossed the latest _People_ magazine over his shoulder. Time to consult _Vogue_. He snatched up the glossy magazine from the staggering pile beside him and flipped through it. Emma lingered on his other side, waiting to be dressed.

"Not that one—it's too long in length. Not that one—it's too bright. It would cause one too many car accidents. Not that…" Gold paused. He folded the right section of the magazine under the rest of it and brought the page closer to his nose for intense speculation. "The editors of this magazine must be blind. There is no conceivable way Kim Kardashian wore that dress better than Angelina Jolie."

Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. This is what she got for allowing Gold to do the dress-shopping. She picked up a stray _Victoria's Secret_ magazine, rolled it tightly in her palm, and swatted Gold over the head. He grumbled and rubbed his head, glaring her way.

"Focus, Gold! Or should I just go naked to the festival?"

For the first time since opening the first magazine, Gold's eyes flickered to her face, shining with amusement. His leer nearly brought her to her knees. It was the kind that seemed to flay her skin and peer into the deepest depths of her soul, every inch of her bared to his liking.

"That was always one of your options, Emma. There's no shame in being proud of your body." She whipped the magazine at his chest. He wasn't supposed to agree with her! He batted the incoming magazine away effortlessly with his free hand and returned to flipping through his magazine for a dress. "A-ha! This should be it! It's perfect—at least by my standards."

_Snap! _

The disaster of a dress melded swiftly into fine red velvet and lace. It clung to her frame, sensually hugging her hips, ending just above her knees. Emma's fingers traveled over every inch experimentally. It was unlike anything she had ever worn before….and she liked it. She waited for Gold to glance up, but he was already searching for other possibilities.

The man changed his mind more than a woman changed clothes.

"Hope you have something to match with this dress," she hinted, threading her fingers languorously along the plunging neckline. "This is the one."

Without removing his eyes from the magazine, he grimaced.

"Emma, what exactly do you believe I use my walk-in closet for? A torture chamber? Coordination happens to be one of my skills—in suits more than footwork. I'll most likely wear—"

Finally, he had the sense to look up and behold the final result of his magic. Never had she seen Gold slip into speechlessness so abruptly. His tongue was far too clever for it. But now, his body froze in place and his mouth dropped open. The magazine landed on the floor, forgotten.

No doubt a few choice compliments spun through his head. _Beautiful. Stunning. Sexy. _If she didn't know any better, she would say his brain was fizzling like a fried egg. Emma blushed under the weight of his stare.

"Whoa," he breathed in absolute awe. It was like he'd never seen a woman in a dress before. Then he blinked rapidly, summoning his composure. He averted his gaze to anything but her. "What…were we talking about, dearie?"

Gold loosened his tie around his neck and swallowed the thick swollen lump in his throat. He wiped his forehead free of sweat. She dared not glance any lower than his waist.

"Subtle, Gold. Real subtle," she teased. She was possibly the only woman in town who could make the Dark One blush so profusely.

…

As with Miner's Day, the town of Storybrooke went all out with decorating the town square and transforming it into the Valentine's Day festival. In actuality, it was significantly worse than Miner's Day, given the emphasis on the sanctity of love.

Pink and white strands of crepe paper spiraled in the air and draped every inch of every booth. There were carnival games that offered enormous pink, red, and brown teddy bears as prizes, which every woman was currently urging her man to win. There were speakers blaring cheesy love songs and an area dedicated to photo sessions where people could have their photo taken in the midst of a romantic kiss with their special someone.

There was so much love in the air that Emma was honestly surprised that no hearts were exploding from the over-excessive exposure.

She and Gold tried to be discreet in approaching the festival. The only problem with being chained to Gold was that the man attracted attention like moths to a flame. It would have been more subtle if Gold showed up and announced his own presence. _It's a bird, it's a plane…no, it's Gold with his trusty cane. _

Except most people wanted Superman's autograph instead of running in the opposite direction.

"Should we head for the cotton candy first or the heart-shaped fried dough?"

Emma threw her head back and inhaled the inviting scent of fried dough. It teased her nostrils until she could practically taste it on her tongue. Oh, she could really go for a plate of that right now; a heaping helping of fried dough sprinkled with the white snowy powder of sugar and maybe a pinch of cinnamon…

The fantasy shattered with a mighty screech.

"_Emma!" _

Her golden head whipped around the same time as Gold's. For safety measures, he pulled her into his arms to shield her, but nothing could prevent what was coming straight at them. A flash of crimson entered her field of vision and collided sharply with her body, nearly tackling her to the grass. Of course, it would have taken Gold with her.

Red wrapped her lean arms around Emma and squeezed with the force of a boa constrictor. All she could do was pat the girl's back and suck in a whoosh of air through her nose. _Can't…breathe…_

"Alright…Red…what the hell do you want? A Scooby Snack?"

Thankfully, Red loosened her hold on Emma and she was able to re-inflate her throbbing lungs. There was a suspiciously broad grin plastered on the waitress's face. Red was inches shy of bouncing up and down on her toes and shouting _Emma, Emma, Emma _like a broken record.

Which vendor was genius enough to give Red unlimited access to the sugar? Adrenaline-pumped werewolves and overdoses of sugar did not bode well for the rest of the town. She was at risk of losing her voice from squealing so much—

That's when it hit her. There were no SweetHearts being thrust in their faces. Red was _speaking. _Out aloud. Vocally.

"Guess what? I can _talk!" _This last word she yelled ten notes higher than the rest of the sentence. Everyone within a mile radius glanced up in alarm. Gold patted the side of his head, emphasizing the temporary loss of his hearing. Throughout the course of this week, Emma had forgotten how powerful Red's lungs were.

"I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that I'd hoped you would stick to the candy hearts," Gold muttered. Emma spun and gave him a critical warning. If it came to a battle between him and Red on the night of a full moon, she'd place her bets on Red.

"So, does this mean you won the bet?" Red was far too ecstatic for someone who potentially lost to Grumpy. Her eyes popped open in the way of someone suddenly recalling an elusive thought. She snapped her fingers in the air.

"Did you have any doubt? Watch this."

Red turned around and stuck her fingers in her mouth. She let out a terribly shrill whistle that made Emma's teeth rattle. Tension filled the air as everyone waited for something to happen. Then Grumpy stepped into view and it was impossible to miss him, even in the crowd.

Dressed in a sparkling pink suit, he was the personification of Valentine's Day. Plastic buttons hung on the lapels with love-savvy sayings of _Who needs Cupid when you have me? _and _Free Hugs and Kisses. _He was munching on cotton candy, but he looked ruffled worse than a raving goose. Camera flashes went off from the crowd and—just for a moment—the town of Storybrooke forgot about the Chained-Up Couple.

"See?" Red gestured her hands to present Grumpy to the awe-inspired crowd. "I won the bet, so he has to accompany me to this Valentine's Day festival. Oh, and he's forbidden from drinking any alcohol," she explained, hooking her arm through Grumpy's. Her spiked pink heels made her a good foot or so taller than him. _Good luck with that, _Emma thought cynically.

"Knowing Leroy's personality in there, he'll find a way," Emma mumbled into Gold's shoulder. He smirked in agreement. All of a sudden, Red's nose twitched at the speed of a rabbit's. She dipped her head down to Grumpy's cotton candy and buried her nose in its fluffiness, sniffing deeply. Emma cocked an eyebrow at the odd behavior.

"Grumpy, is your cotton candy laced with…alcohol?"

Instead of answering Red right away, he nonchalantly took another bite, the cotton dissolving even before he pulled it into his mouth. Only Grumpy would manage to find a way to make cotton candy alcoholic. Red's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Grumpy!"

"Cool it, sister! You specifically said I could not _drink _any alcohol! You never implied I could not _eat_ it!" Red swiped up his cotton candy and chucked it into the street. Grumpy pouted. "You owe me a dollar for the cotton candy…and $20 for the bottle of alcohol."

Apart from Kathryn's disappearance, Emma suddenly remembered why she decided not to get too invested in the Miner's festival last year. Some things didn't change around here. Gold took her by the arm and escorted her away from the two bickering pink folk, reveling in the brief distraction.

"Do you still want fried dough or do you suppose the angry dwarf tainted that, too?" Emma figured she wouldn't take the chance.

….

Everyone in town may have been at the festival (even Jefferson was preoccupied with flinging a crème pie at Archie's face to win Grace a carnival prize), but it was surprisingly easy to find Snow and Charming. Snow wore a white springtime dress that stood out like a beacon of light. Charming seemed laid-back as he treated himself to cotton candy.

Gold eyed it with amusement, a sly grin crossing his lips. Emma deliberately yanked the handcuff chain.

"Don't say a word about it. Let him enjoy his cotton candy," she warned through her teeth. He gave a swift nod to acknowledge he had heard. Maybe if they were silent, they could slip past her parents…Too late, Snow noticed them and dragged Charming along by the arm.

"Emma, when did you get here? Oh, you look so beautiful in that dress! Doesn't she look beautiful, Charming?" Tears actually welled up in Snow's emerald eyes over the notion that their baby wasn't a baby, anymore. The noble prince offered an enthusiastic _m-hm_ around a cloud of sugary pink cotton.

"If this were a teen movie, Charming, you'd have your role all picked out. You are the naïve hopeless romantic that doesn't know the cotton candy is spiked," Gold said, gazing meaningfully at the cotton candy. It was already half-eaten. He leaned down to Emma's ear. "That was 28 words."

Charming stared down at his cotton candy as though it had miraculously transformed into a nest of stinging wasps. He quickly passed it over to Snow and used his sleeve to wipe his mouth free of sugar. Afterwards, he ignored Gold's input and caught Emma by the crook of her elbow.

"Emma, there's something I need to say," Charming said while running his tongue across his teeth to rid them of the alcohol-tainted treat. She grew stiff, dreading the next round of _Tug-of-War-with-Emma. _"I'm sorry."

Snow smiled proudly at her husband, but Emma's mouth just hit the ground in a most unladylike way. This was the last thing she expected. Her brain failed to compute it. _Wait…what? No sword swinging? No threats against Gold for taking advantage of his daughter? _

"You're…sorry?"

Even Gold had no words to mock Charming with. Clearly, he had been waiting for Charming to unveil some other kind of startling news, something along the lines of _I have seven days to live _or _we're having a baby!_ Somehow, Emma didn't think this was anywhere in his Top 50 possibilities.

"I am. I'm sorry for hiring the dwarves to follow you. I haven't exactly been a proper father to you since the night you were born and I only want to ensure your well-being. Snow and I had a long discussion…one where she took my sword and hid it until I saw her side of things…and…" He double-checked with Snow for reassurance and she patted his arm. She tilted her head in their direction, a simple message: _go on. _"…and if you're truly happy with someone like him, then I vow here and now not to stand in the way of that happiness."

This had to be a dream. Some kind of hallucination brought on by dehydration. There was no way Charming was extending his hand to Gold in a truce. Or perhaps this was another effect of being an epitome of goodness—to boldly look even the darkest of creatures in the face and find something worth praising.

"You swear to take care of my daughter? To honor her and make her happy?"

Charming cocked an eyebrow in warning to Gold. Those rich brown eyes flickered in her direction, but his expression lacked the darker undertones of his amusement. There was nothing short of seriousness as he studied her, as though contemplating whether he was capable of living up to Charming's standards.

Gold scrutinized Charming's outstretched hand carefully, his fingers twitching with uncertainty.

"I give you my word," Gold promised.

With gradual ease, he placed his hand in Charming's and gave it a stiff, firm shake. Only Charming was smiling brightly now, white teeth flashing, relieved to have Gold's word attached to that promise. Unable to contain his own joy, he dragged Gold in and caught him in a bear hug while Emma teetered unsteadily on her feet. Gold dug his cane into Charming's kneecap, forcing him to let go. He stumbled back as far as he could, hastily brushing off invisible specks of Charming-dust from his suit.

"Why do good people nurse the unquenchable desire to invade my personal space? Do I look like a man who needs a hug?" _Yes, _Emma almost stated, but stuffed it under a small chuckle. She didn't think Gold would appreciate the humor right now. Charming struck a valiant pose, appearing quite proud of himself.

"Snow, do you still want me to win you that teddy bear?" Gold snorted decisively. Charming's face turned tomato red. "What?" Emma smelled trouble on the wind. She should have known that truce would last mere seconds.

"Oh, nothing. I just hope you plan on running down to Clark's to buy a bear when you fail to win one here of your own accord," Gold retorted. Emma buried her head in the palm of her hand, cursing Gold's name seven different ways. This was almost as bad as questioning Charming's swordsmanship.

Just as she feared, Charming squared his shoulders in face of the challenge.

"I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of winning my wife one of those teddy bears. How hard could it be? I don't see you limping over there to win one for Emma," he pointed out. Emma and Snow met each other's eyes, both wearing the same grim expression. _Here we go, _she mentally groaned. The testosterone clogging the air was enough to make her gag.

"Please. I'll bet I could win a teddy bear for Emma before you could ever win one for Snow," Gold declared. His dark gaze switched to Snow, who was watching the exchange like she would a tennis match. A wink from Gold nearly floored her. "Don't worry, Snow. Perhaps after I win a teddy bear for Emma, I'll be generous enough to win one for you, too."

Emma stomped her foot and slapped Gold across the arm. It was one of those moments where her temper flared enough to warrant an outburst.

"_Will you stop flirting with my mother?" _

Emma tried to control her jealousy, but the damage was done. People around them lifted their heads, overhearing the lashing. Snow, Charming, and Gold gawked openly at her as she seethed. Why was he so surprised about her sensitivity toward his attention span? That man was incorrigible, offering bedroom eyes to every female that crossed his path save for Regina and the nuns.

"I am not flirting with your mother! Not whole-heartedly! If you and I expect to build a stable relationship and take it to the next level, I'd like to have your mother's respect. That way, I don't find myself earning an arrow in the arse somewhere down the road!"

Truth be told, Snow shooting Gold with an arrow was a very plausible threat. And those arrows wouldn't be Cupid's heart-shaped ones, meant to bring about endless love. He'd be lucky if they weren't on fire. Snow frowned with concern.

"I do respect you, Rumpelstiltskin," she assured him in her kind, good-natured way. "Emma, if you think he's bad and seductive now, you should have seen him in our world. Feared as he might have been, he was absolutely the talk of the kingdom among the maidens." Gold nudged Emma in the ribs and winked to accommodate Snow's words. Despite her dissipating anger, a smile teased her lips.

Charming was still gawking. He pivoted toward Snow in disbelief.

"Snow, who's side are you on?" _Apparently mine, _Emma effortlessly read the mockery on Gold's face. Charming no longer looked like he wanted to hug Gold. He crossed his muscular arms and sniffed furiously. "I'll take that bet, imp! First man to get a teddy bear for his woman. But let's make it interesting. The winner smashes a crème pie in the loser's face in front of the entire town."

Humility. That was Charming's weapon of choice here. Gold's brow ticked with obvious distaste. Royals and humility seemed to go hand in hand for him. Still, he bounded forward with a spring in his step as he gracefully extended his hand to Charming.

"Do we have a deal, then?" Charming arrogantly rolled his shoulders and thrust his hand into Gold's, giving it a firm shake.

"Deal."

….

"I challenge you to the Test Your Strength game," Charming declared, puffing out his chest for added effect as he stepped up to take the mallet. Gold lagged behind, his expression pinched with utmost loathing.

"And offer you the chance to mock me over how well your four limbs work? I think not. Besides, we wouldn't want that hammer to accidentally slip from your grasp and hit anything…vital, would we?"

Charming interpreted that for the flat-out _no _it was in Gold's obnoxious language. He stopped rolling up his sleeves and dropped the mallet. On his foot. Charming yelped, bobbing up and down from the sudden jolt of pain. Gold didn't bother to shield his snickering.

"What did I tell you? Emma-dear, what would you say if I applied for the job of a fortune teller for next year's festival?"

Emma really wished he wouldn't drag her into this little fiasco he was creating with Charming. She and Snow exchanged awkward glances. The idea of Gold wearing one of those creepy turbans and waving his hands in front of a glass ball was enough to make her reconsider returning for next year's festival.

"I'd say you would use it to your advantage and amuse yourself. You would have more than half this town running around in circles thinking they're doomed to die in seven days. And you'd be on the floor giggling," she answered. He didn't deny a single word of it. In fact, he appeared inspired. "Don't even consider it, Gold. That's what they have Zoltar for."

He huffed under his breath and matched Charming's steps as they searched for a worthy challenge to settle their bet. Snow lightly applied pressure to Emma's arm as they walked alongside Gold, her black head dipping close to Emma's.

"As your mother, it is my duty to give you advice when I feel it is necessary. I think I should warn you…this is the part of a relationship where the man ignores the good sense of a woman," she whispered, gazing directly past Emma's shoulder to Gold. Oh, yeah—she was definitely making plans for next year's festival. A vacation to Universal Studios ought to do the trick.

"There is our challenge," Gold announced, pointing a long finger at one of the booths. "Balloon Darts." Emma glanced toward the booth and saw people throwing darts in a measly attempt to pop half-inflated balloons taped to a wall. Only a person with money burning a hole in their pocket would try that one. Charming shook his head negatively.

"Let me guess—you're hoping Graham's spirit will possess your body and help you win?" That was Charming's version of the word _no. _Gold tapped his cane irritably on the ground.

"Believe it or not, there is a spell for that on All Hallow's Eve. Of course, it happens to be the night the restless souls are allowed to wander the earth. I was foolish enough to try it once in my castle out of curiosity. Let's just say…it's not as entertaining as you think to float in midair."

That mental image earned him a round of long, vacant stares. They all silently agreed never to attend one of Gold's Halloween parties.

Emma was becoming impatient with this challenge. Before Charming could even think to steer them in the direction of a game that featured a pond of plastic pink-painted ducks, she gestured to a nearby booth. They would just have to quit complaining and stick with that.

"What's wrong with that one?"

Charming and Gold approached the booth to examine the game. It was the classic one that demanded the customer to knock down a pyramid of milk bottles. It seemed easy enough, even though Emma suspected it was rigged somehow. It always was whenever she snuck into a county fair. Would it be worth watching the two men roil in frustration?

"Fine by me," Charming stated, holding out his hand for the softball after first laying down a dollar. The carnie handed it over without argument. Gold lingered on the side, wanting to watch Charming screw it up before he stepped up for his turn. Emma kept a close eye on his fingers in case he tried to cheat with magic.

The softball bounced a few times in Charming's palm. He seemed to be scrutinizing the pyramid of milk bottles, searching for any sign of a weak spot and assessing it critically in order to retaliate with an effective mode of attack. The pyramid might as well have been a deadly fire-breathing dragon.

Emma tapped her foot on the grass, eager to get this show over with. Since this was a game of skills, she knew in the back of her mind that somehow, someway, Gold would find a way to win. Snow looked to be one syllable away from becoming Charming's cheerleader in the background.

Charming drew in a deep breath, wound his arm back, readjusted the softball in the curve of his palm, and…

"Miss," Gold barked into Charming's ear the instant he released the ball. It zoomed right past the milk bottles and ended up smacking Grumpy in the center of his bald head. The dwarf rubbed his head and scowled over his shoulder.

"Sorry," Charming called out to the dwarf, who was currently muttering a string of unintelligible words under his breath. Then Charming shot daggers at Gold with his eyes. "You did that on purpose! I want a refund!"

But the carnie simply shrugged pitifully. _Sucks for you; _the careless response was etched all over his face. Emma should have suspected that Gold wouldn't hesitate to stoop to these kinds of childish antics. That man would do anything to ensure his victory.

"What, are you six years old now?"

He merely gave her one of his innocent masks to digest while he swiftly laid a dollar on the counter of the booth. The carnie snatched it up and handed Gold a ball. It was a good thing Gold was good with both hands or else the handcuffs would prove awkward. He flashed a devious grin in Charming's direction, who was still pouting next to Snow.

"Watch how it's done," he silkily hissed, cradling the softball between his fingers. Gold trained his eyes on the milk bottles, his forehead lining with deep grooves of concentration. If he was trying to knock the bottles down with the sheer force of his charisma and cologne, it wasn't working.

Ever so quietly, he breathed in through the nose and put most of his weight on his cane as he wrenched his arm back. He was focusing so hard on those bottles that he failed to notice Charming sneaking up behind him. Emma observed the prince with widening eyes. Now would definitely not be a good time to catch Gold in a bear hug.

At the moment that Gold launched the ball, Charming's foot shot out and kicked the cane out from under him. The ball soared away from the milk bottles and landed in Grumpy's drink, splattering the dwarf's suit with soda.

"Two balls? Really, sister?"

The dwarf threw his red cup on the ground and stomped on it until it was bent out of shape. Gold, meanwhile, scrambled to his feet and eyed Charming murderously. No one touched his cane without express permission. _Maybe someone should warn Charming not to smile so widely, _Emma thought fleetingly.

"Whoops. How clumsy of me," Charming feigned embarrassment, placing a hand over his heart. Gold bared his teeth, but Charming ignored it. "That was payback for my round."

He stepped up again for one of the softballs. Emma dragged Gold to the side so he would not disrupt Charming's progress.

This time, Charming snuck a quick sideways glance at Gold before feeling confident enough to let the ball fly. It spun toward the milk bottles, striking the center dead-on. The milk bottles rattled, starting to topple over the table….Each one fell over except one lousy bottle that corrected itself at the last second.

"No! I was so close," Charming unleashed an anguished cry of defeat, falling to his knees. Snow comforted him with a hand on the shoulder. Gold erupted into a fit of chuckling at the irony. Even without interference on his part, Charming still failed the task at hand.

It was Gold's turn again. This time, he was determined to win. The carnie fixed the pyramid and offered him a new ball, but he waved it off.

"No, thanks. I'll be using one of my own," he announced.

With a flick of the wrist, a crackling fireball burst into life in the palm of his hand. Before anyone could stop him, he aimed it for the milk bottles. It connected with the pyramid and the light of the fire seeped across the rims. There was an explosion and the milk bottles shattered into tiny fragments. Gold nodded, satisfied even when bits and pieces of glass sprinkled down over their heads.

"I win. How about that prize, dearie?"

The carnie was too frightened to object, so he willingly allowed Gold to view the choices of stuffed bears. There was a pink, red, and brown one. He ultimately selected the latter while Charming gaped incredulously, his head whipping from the bear to the spot where the bottles used to be.

"Wait a minute! You cheated! Using magic to blow up the bottles doesn't count!" Gold tucked the bear under his arm and thrust a finger in Charming's face.

"Yes, we had a deal. The challenge was thus: the first man to get a teddy bear for his woman would be declared the winner. You never specified the means of winning, I'm afraid. Technically, I won fair and square and that means I have the intense pleasure of doing…this."

Just as with the fireball, a fresh crème pie appeared in Gold's hand. Before Charming could object any further, the pie splattered against his face, coating it in thick white frosting. The crowd surrounding them paused to observe the humility of Prince Charming, most unable to quench their laughter. Charming licked the pie off his lips, only to spit it out.

"Ugh, why does this pie taste like fish?"

Emma would have explained the rule of magic and food never mixing well, but was distracted by Gold suddenly offering her the teddy bear. It wasn't excessively large, but it was big enough to cuddle with. It had a red heart stitched under its eye and the fur was a luxurious brown—the shade of Gold's eyes, she noticed.

"Thank you," she whispered to Gold, if only to avoid setting Charming's woes off again. His self-esteem wasn't exactly high right now. She hugged the teddy bear to her chest, savoring the softness of its fur. The crowd eventually moved on and silence fell around them like the rain of glass shards.

Then, Snow clapped her hands together to demand their attention.

"Anyone up for having their picture taken?"

…..

There wasn't a very long line for pictures. Snow and Charming decided to go first, after Charming successfully wiped the crème off his face. He still smelled like fish afterwards which Snow—bless her heart—pretended not to notice.

The couple took their places in front of the camera that Sidney was working. Charming easily took Snow into his arms, swept her off her feet, and planted a romantic kiss on her lips. It was the stuff of true love, the sensation that made the stars sparkle brighter in the sky and sweet music lilt through the air. The white flash of the camera illuminated their bodies and then the precious moment was frozen forever in the form of a picture.

In a matter of seconds, it was their turn.

Emma's stomach felt terribly empty and her shoes may have been filled with lead for all the effort it required to move them an inch across the ground. Not to mention how the crowd seemed to swell around the photo booth…

"Emma, are you certain you want to do this?" Gold touched her elbow, directing her attention to his face.

She could tell he was secretly hoping she would decline and let them off the hook. According to him, he wasn't very photogenic. Her parents stood on the other side of the photo area, watching her intently. Snow had taken temporary custody of the bear, so Emma didn't even have something to hold onto to quell her nerves.

What was she being so lighthearted about? She was Emma Swan, powerful savior, Sheriff of Storybrooke, slayer of dragons. She took a step toward the photo area.

"Let's do this," she murmured, guiding them in front of the camera. She and Gold stood side by side while Sidney set up the camera for the next shot. It was when Emma was center-stage in front of that white backdrop that she realized this was a bad idea. There were eyes everywhere. Eyes, eyes, and more eyes; everywhere she looked.

"Alright, now just…give her a kiss," Sidney instructed from behind the camera.

Emma froze up. She had never considered herself to be very prone to stage-fright, but this was beyond unnerving. It was the election all over again, with every person in town providing their undivided attention. And Archie wasn't even going to ease the situation with his bad jokes!

How in the world was she supposed to kiss Gold when everyone was staring at her like a museum exhibit?

"Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…" The chant initially rose as one voice, belonging solely to Red. Then Leroy joined in, the chant becoming a rhythmic duet. It rippled across the swarming crowd of people, enlisting volunteers to encourage its frequency and volume. Soon everyone was saying it. "Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss—"

She couldn't move. She couldn't think. Luckily, she did not have to.

Abruptly, Gold clasped her hand and pulled her into his body. His hand flew to the back of her neck and supported the weight of her head while his lips collided with her own. Emma was stunned for a full minute as she was instantly sucked into a mind-numbing, toe-tingling kiss. And then she began to respond to it, her free arm snaking up along the curve of his back. It was the most sensual kiss anyone had given her—it made her feel ready to float away into the air.

The flash of light burned behind her eyelids and then it was done. Gold tentatively broke the kiss and checked underneath his eyelashes for her reaction. Emma's breath came quick and hot. If it had not been for Gold holding her in his arms, she might have drifted to the ground like an autumn leaf.

"Now _that _is what I call a kiss! This will be headline news! _Chained-Up Couple Tightens Knot at Festival," _Sidney proclaimed, waving his hand wildly in the air with every word he said. He developed the photo and handed it to Gold, who gave him a fierce glare to help him reconsider those headlines.

Emma motioned toward a booth that advertised _Make-Your-Own Sundaes_, just the necessary thing to put a grin on Gold's face. He allowed Emma to lead him away from the photo area, with her parents sneaking them admirable glances when they thought it wouldn't be noticed. Ever so carefully, he tucked the photo of his kiss with Emma inside his suit.

He already knew it would be something he would treasure long past this night.

….

"I don't know about you, Gold, but I think I've experienced enough love for one year. Or five," Emma mused tiredly as they walked through his front door. Gold gratefully closed the door behind him, shutting out the rest of Storybrooke. Emma kicked off her shoes, situated the teddy bear on the table in the hallway, and matched his pace until they reached the warmth of his kitchen.

Ah, it was so good to be ho—uh, here in Gold's house. It was good to get away from the overzealous crowds of citizens and enjoy their time alone. To not have to worry about someone watching their movements extra closely and documenting every word passed between them.

"Pity," Gold remarked as he set his cane against the wall. "I still owe you that dance," he reminded her with a small flip of his dusty brown hair. Oh, yes. Her condition for accepting his invitation to the festival. How could she forget?

Under her watchful eye, Gold hastened to the radio and turned it on. She could tell he was nervous, his hands fumbling with the radio knobs more than they should. She liked it, this timid side of him. Buzzing static filled the room while he searched for a worthy station. He finally paused on a station that played older, softer music—"Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds was just fading out.

A gentler melody transcended it—"Fields of Gold" by Sting. The peaceful beat carried her away; she wasn't even aware she had closed her eyes until Gold's fingertips brushed her cheek. Decidedly, she leaned her head into the support of his hand.

"Something else you probably don't know about me: I happen to love this song," Emma admitted, the lyrics already drifting toward the surface of her mind before the first verse set in. Gold's hand fell from her cheek, leaving her skin tingling from his touch. Hesitantly, he extended his hand to her in invitation.

"May I…have this dance?" Emma glanced down at his outstretched palm curiously. His smile dampened in intensity. He must be predicting her refusal. She always enjoyed proving him wrong.

"You may," she accepted. Truthfully, it was more than proving him wrong that motivated her to slip her hand into his. It wasn't even the notion that she had requested he save her a dance tonight. Deep down, there was a part of her that wanted this.

So she readily laid her hand in his and allowed him to guide her into the center of the kitchen. With his handcuffed arm nestled comfortably on her hip and her free arm entwined around his neck, their bodies began to move seamlessly together in time to the lulling tune.

_So she took her love for to gaze awhile…among the fields of barley….in his arms she fell as her hair came down…among the fields of gold. _

It became so easy to lose herself in Gold, to relax in the security of his arms. His free hand seemed to have a mind of its own, sliding up along her neck until it reached the tie in her hair. With his brown eyes burning into her emerald ones, the tie came undone and she shook her blonde waves from it, the strands pooling around her shoulders, bright as liquid sunshine. His fingers delved into the shining patch of gold curls, stroking and caressing.

_Will you stay with me…will be my love? Among the fields of barley…_

"Stay with me," he breathed silkily into her ear, his warm lips brushing over her skin. It unleashed a swarm of butterflies in her stomach as her hand massaged the back of his neck while they swayed rhythmically. Without warning, he swung her body outward until she reached the utmost length of the chain on the handcuffs. He reeled her in just as smoothly, back into the circle of his arms. From his neck, her fingers slid lower, underneath the collar of his dress shirt.

God, his skin was so warm and velvety soft….she had a fleeting thought of losing herself in it…

_Feel her body rise as you kiss her mouth…among the fields of gold…_

Sensually, his tender touch teased her waist, pressing her body against his own as they crept up along the curve of her spine, savoring and memorizing every dip and angle of flesh. Her head tilted back, her lips parting silently. Heat rose to her cheeks as his head dipped forward, her nail tracing the coiling curve of his shoulder blade as his breath tickled her bottom lip…

…and then the deal was sealed. It was a delicate, chaste kiss, pure with promise. A moan stirred from her throat as she desired more.

_I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold. _

"Okay," she gasped the moment the kiss inevitably broke. It left her breathless, weak at the knees, her nails suddenly digging into his shoulder and holding him firmly against her shuddering body for dear life. "Let's do it."

Every bit of resolve inside her mind splintered apart and shattered like cracking ice in a frozen pond, the water finally earning the beauty of the emerging spring sun. She knew without a doubt that she wanted this. Here and now. She was ready.

Gold stiffened in her arms. Judging from the perplexity written like ebony ink in his face, he was unsure whether he was imagining this. He needed to know that it was true.

"What is it you want, Emma?"

She understood that he needed her to say it once and for all, to prove that this moment had finally come. Lounging in his embrace, the music fading into the background, she dared to place a hand over his beating heart.

"Let's make love."

…

_**A big thank-you goes out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, KatieMarrie, Onceuponatimesupporter, Guest, Nightshade's sydneylover150, discotimelord, Newland Archer, cat4444, DragonRose4, Moonlight-Wanderer88, SakuraBlossom58, SwanQueen4055, Tentacion Prohibida, la-stella-immortale, Revenessa, The Auburn Girl, sbcarri, louisethelibrarian, Ashamalee, AngelofDarkness1605, PrincessofSea, BundyShoes, SweetCinnamon, and FortunesFavour for their awesome reviews! Lots of love, guys! **_


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Well, here it is, ladies and gentleman. The finale to this amazing Valentine's Day adventure. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

"Let's make love," he heard Emma say the words strongly, confidently, absent of any inkling of doubt.

The three words he never thought he'd be blessed enough to hear. She felt so incredibly good in his arms, so right….and the fiery glimmer in her green eyes told him all he needed to know. She was ready. She wanted this.

It was almost too much for his old, weary soul to bear.

Oh, but the last thing he wanted to do was make the same petty mistake as he had with the other women in his past life. The last thing he wished to do was hurt her or expose his heart long enough to be hurt again. What if they did this….and she left, never to warm his bed again? What if they did this…and she regretted it afterwards?

It was with excruciating difficulty that he refrained from kissing her until she was breathless.

"Are you sure this is truly what you want, Emma? This isn't simply a last resort to escape the handcuffs?" Emma's eyes noticeably darkened on the heels of that insinuation. She shook her head, as if she honestly pitied his lack of confidence.

"Gold, I've barely given these handcuffs a thought today. On or off…I don't care anymore. I want this to happen. Don't make me change my mind," she said, her voice luxurious as caramel.

Undoing the perfection of his crimson tie, she peeled the collar of his shirt back, exposing the hollow of his throat. Leaning her head down, she dared to kiss that glorious spot on his chest that was always hidden by his tie. The sensation of her velvet lips against his searing-hot skin was maddening enough to make him moan and tilt his head back in bliss. She laughed against his neck, the breath tickling his skin.

Gods, his toes threatened to curl in pleasure and it was so damn hard to keep a single strain of logic in his mind. At one point, he even forgot how to breathe, suddenly gasping as the breath caught in his throat. In, out, in out….right.

When he no longer sensed her lips teasing his skin, he glanced down to find her watching him intently, her eyes wide in wonder and almost pleading. Oh, gods, that delicate mouth of hers was slightly parted and looked so kissable…

"Please," she whimpered.

The muscles of his stomach coiled painfully tight, his leg throbbed something fierce…or was that throbbing really a fault of his leg? His chest constricted until his heart beat against its cage, demanding a way out. The allure of her voice was undeniably akin to the mystical call of a siren, luring him in without a fight.

_Please…_The one word that would erase every ounce of willpower in his bones and bring him to his knees before her.

His hand rose to cup her chin before caressing its way to that inviting thicket of sunshine. He thought he might have whispered her name, as familiar to his tongue as his Scottish accent. It was like he was under an unbreakable spell; he was coming apart at the seams.

What the hell. It was futile to deny the truth: he wanted Emma Swan. No one else would ever suffice.

"So be it," he conceded.

In seconds, his lips connected with hers and it was like tumbling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland—forever falling, falling, falling…His thumb rubbed tantalizing circles into the nape of her neck as she kissed back eagerly. Her hand clenched a fistful of his midnight-shaded dress shirt and urged his body infinitely closer to her body, the fingers of their conjoined hands weaving together atop the rolling curve of her hip. An explosion of delicious cinnamon taunted the tip of his tongue as her lips parted wider and their kiss deepened.

What exactly did he taste like to her, he wondered? He supposed it would be strange to ask at the current moment.

Emma took it upon herself to dominate the situation and shoved her hand against his chest, guiding him backward until he bumped into the kitchen table. If he hadn't gripped Emma for support, he would have splayed across it on his back. It was then that he paused, taken aback by her blunt urgency.

Who knew Emma was such a lioness?

He pulled back at the risk of her disappointed groan to peer into her cloudy, lust-filled eyes. Her pupils were enlarged, her irises a thin green circulating band, foretelling of her immense pleasure. Her lip pursed in a small pout, her brows knitted together.

"Why'd you stop? Too straightforward?"

She started to draw back, but he swiftly caught her wrist. His thumb traced the largest vein running in a purple river just beneath her skin. Her pulse throbbed against his finger and he bent his head to lightly suck the tender spot.

"Believe it or not, dearie, I can keep up rather well. I just…I want to do this right by you," he admitted. Emma lifted an eyebrow skeptically. It occurred to him that perhaps no man had ever been quite so noble for her.

"How?"

Guiding her into his arms, he dipped his head and kissed her cheek. His lips slid across her skin until he reached the lobe of her ear. A little nip here, a little nuzzle there—enough to warrant Emma speechless, her eyelashes fluttering down to shield her eyes.

"My bed," he breathed into her ear as he continued to plant a trail of open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Her nails dug into his neck as she held his head steady. As if he was thinking about going anywhere. "But I fear…" _Kiss. _"…with the fire fueling between us…" _Kiss. _"…we would never make it up the stairs."

Their growing passion was like an active volcano—there was only so much time left before it erupted. Emma observed the kitchen over his shoulder and shrugged, her shoulder rising to meet his lips.

"It's okay. I've seen worse places than your kitchen," she excused it, her voice raw in his ear. But Gold shook his head violently and leaned backwards to view her face. His hand brushed the stray strands of blonde waves from her cheek.

"No. I refuse to let you be unsatisfied. I don't want this to be a meaningless romp on the kitchen table," he exclaimed a bit forcefully. Emma blinked in surprise. He readjusted her free arm on his neck so it was firmly wrapped around him. "Here, hold onto me. Wrap your arm around my neck…just like that….and close your eyes."

Emma humored him, keeping her arm securely draped around his neck. She buried her face into his shoulder, his scent delightfully teasing her nose. She hoped he never ran out of that cologne.

"Gold, what exactly are you—"

But before she could get the question out, he snapped his fingers over her head. All of a sudden, she felt extremely lightheaded and something misty and cool swirled around her legs. It only lasted for a second, but Emma figured she would never forget the odd sensation.

He tapped her shoulder to instruct her to open her eyes. No longer were they standing in the middle of the kitchen; he had used magic to transport them to his bedroom.

"Now…where were we?"

Emma briefly escaped from his arms in order to gaze around his bedroom with dazed eyes. She even crossed to the bed with Gold in tow and patted the sheets and pillows to be sure they were real. She'd never traveled magically before.

"Impressive," she flatly commented. _Show-off, _she added in her head. He apparently missed the sarcasm and grinned anyway. He pressed his hand to his chest and she imagined what kinds of thoughts whirred through his mind. _Oh, stop it, Emma. You'll make me blush. _

"Gets you all hot and bothered, does it?"

Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Only Gold had an ego big enough to place himself on a pedestal the size of Mount Everest. Still, she failed to hide the smile as she returned to the welcoming arc of his arms.

"Guess you didn't get the memo. It's too late for that," she replied before tracing her mouth across his jaw. A delightful shudder traveled through his body. "Are _you _sure about this?"

Gold chuckled deep in his throat and ran his hand upwards along the lacey curve of her back. If he was not sure about this, he would not already be responding to Emma like a desperate wanderer discovering water in the midst of the Sahara Desert.

"Trust me, Emma; there's no else I'd rather get hot and sweaty with. There's no else I'd rather have…but you," he assured her, his accent thicker in the latest wave of desire rushing through his body. He could feel the blood pounding in his veins—among other places—as Emma's smile stretched.

"Good answer."

And then she kissed him again, effectively making his head spin. Together, without once breaking the kiss, they stumbled backward toward the bed. Gold pressed his hand firmly into the small of her back and guided her onto the mattress. He half-straddled her waist, his knee sliding between her legs, and nuzzled her neck.

Emma's loose hand spread across the silk sheets, occasionally rumpling them in her fingers as her muscles succumbed to spasms. Her fingertips brushed something soft and light. Craning her head to the side, she picked up something from the bed and examined it.

How typical.

"Rose petals? Really?"

There were dozens of them in all sorts of colors—red, pink, white petals scattered over the bed. Gold lifted his head, a shy smile hovering on his lips. He hardly looked like the fierce being that beat people with canes when he cast his gaze down like that. He flicked a few of the stray petals away from the spools of her blonde hair.

"I wanted this night to be perfect. I did not want you to regret a second of it," he admitted almost in defense of his actions.

Emma plucked a petal from her hair, swirling it around in her fingers. She never had someone sprinkle petals on a bed for her. It was…sweet. In a cheesy, romantic comedy sort of way.

"Never knew you were such a romantic at heart," she teased.

There was that adorable blush again. She chewed on her bottom lip to stifle the giggle bubbling in her throat. Gold nipped the hollow of her throat and sighed upon feeling the fluttering heartbeat underneath.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he hinted as he drew up on his haunches. The restriction of the handcuffs forced him to angle his body a certain way, but still he was able to vastly drink in the sight of Emma lying in wait for him. And she let him look. "For instance, I wouldn't be much of a romantic lover if I only gave you rose petals. There shall be candles, too. Vanilla cupcake scented."

With a wave of his hand, dozens of cream-colored candles of all sizes appeared on the furniture—on the bedside table, the dresser, the floor, everywhere. The glow of the flickering flames illuminated the room, casting inky shadows on the wall. Only three candles on the bedside table remained unlit. Holding her gaze, Gold pinched each of the wicks and immediately the wicks caught fire.

Afterwards, Gold smacked his fingertips to his lips, as if to say _voila! _Emma inhaled the increasing aroma of vanilla. She should have expected scented candles on his romantic checklist.

"I'm surprised you don't have a hidden radio under the bed playing sappy love music. Here I figured you'd be subtle enough to play 'Let's Get It On'," Emma remarked as Gold sank into her arms again.

He was content with tasting every inch of her body before he allowed her to please his. He knew that, if he did surrender to her tantalizing touch, he would be far too greedy and selfish in his pleasure. With ease, he encouraged her loose arm to slip out of the strap of her dress. He began to do the same with the other one, but cursed when the handcuffs got in the way. He pulled his head back from Emma's tresses and scowled at her dress.

Why did he ignore his instincts and not go strapless?

"Damn these infernal contraptions," he growled, whisking the strap away with magic.

Emma busied herself with undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and pushing it over his shoulders. A few of the buttons popped off and rolled across the floor. Once his chest was exposed, she was helpless to run her hand over his taut skin, the muscles contracting and rippling in response to her touch.

They were not in any hurry despite the magnificent fire burning viciously between their bodies. Slowly, they did away with their clothes, their forms writhing atop the bed to accommodate the handcuffs. Gold's palms slid across Emma's hips as he helped her shimmy out of the red velvet dress once and for all.

It was difficult not to admire Emma once she was completely unsheathed and fully exposed to him. The enchanting glow of the candles bathed her skin in a rich golden hue, with only a hint of pink pooling in her cheeks. A low moan escaped his lips.

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" Heartbreakingly beautiful, in his opinion.

It stirred something inside him, made worse by the inviting smile on her lips. It was a half-smile borne of relief and gratitude, as though no one had ever really informed her of that truth. He couldn't fathom why. If he had Emma by his side, he would whisper that truth in her ear every night.

Ever so tenderly, he kissed her lips again, pouring forth every aspect of his emotions while savoring her delectable taste. She lightly sucked on his bottom lip, eliciting another groan that seemed to spring up from his toes. Her legs readily embraced his waist—the volcano finally exploded.

They came together so perfectly, two pieces of the puzzle fitting together. Emma clung to his rigid back, the muscles thriving rapidly beneath her palms. Her head tossed backward, offering her throat to his mouth, her back arching off the bed to meet him halfway. His nails hooked into the sheets, nearly tearing them as he buried himself in Emma. Slipping his arm under her waist, he held her flush against his body. Never had he heard sweeter cries in his ear.

There was no other feeling like it in any of the realms he walked among. This was heaven.

After what must have been hours of love-making, Gold finally collapsed atop Emma's chest, the rhythm of her pounding heart his personal lullaby. Her fingers weaved through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead. Sweat drenched their bodies, their muscles aching though neither complained. They were happy enough to breathe and relax in each other's presence.

"That…was…" Emma's husky voice trailed off into the silence, her exhausted mind blindly searching for the proper word. His ears strained in anticipation of her response. "Perfect."

He grinned victoriously against her chest. Ooh, his leg would be in a sorry state tomorrow from having driven his body so hard…but it was well worth the suffering. He stretched his legs and arms to rid of the remaining tension.

That was precisely when it hit him. His eyes shot open wide, a sudden bolt of realization striking him in the dark.

"Hey," he breathily commanded Emma's attention.

She curiously tilted her head to catch his eye, her own green orbs glazed from her simmering passion. She gasped. In his hand was the pair of enchanted handcuffs, the chain dangling from the tip of his finger. Emma instinctively lifted her wrist and rubbed it in amazement. No cuff. No imprisonment. Only a light red mark gave any notice of their predicament.

"We're free," he whispered, throwing the measly handcuffs on the bedside table next to the candles. Emma reclined her head on the sheets and massaged the stiffness from her wrist.

Finally.

And yet…

"No," she negatively countered. His brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes flicking between her face and the handcuffs that currently held no prisoners. "We may be free of the handcuffs, but it doesn't mean we're free of each other. The handcuffs were always the tip of the iceberg. Gold…I'm bound to you."

Gold stroked his knuckle along the rosy apple of her cheek. This was more than he ever dared hope for from Emma, after all was said and done. Bound…It sounded so promising, so official, so ultimate. It radiated with a power of its own, like _true love. _

"You don't have to be," he told her gently. Emma gave him a flippant look that questioned his sanity.

"I _know_ I don't have to be. I want to be. There's a difference," she insisted, brushing a few strands of dusty brown hair from his eyes. It was one of the characteristics she admittedly treasured in Gold: those impossibly rich brown eyes that made her feel like she was tumbling headfirst into a pool of chocolate fudge. Suitable for the man with the biggest sweet tooth in town.

He started to protest her decision, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"The heart wants what it wants, right?"

He kissed the tip of her finger as it traced the curve of his lips. Then he changed his mind and sucked it wholly into his mouth, his tongue curling around the digit and giving her another reason to mew with want. That tongue of his worked in mysterious ways, indeed.

When he pulled away, his eyes became speckled with sadness and seriousness. His hair fell around his angled face, acting as a curtain that prevented her from peering closer.

"I once told you…I'm a difficult man to love, dearie." It was one year ago, as a matter of fact. As with that moment, Emma hardly batted an eyelash. Perhaps she took it as a challenge, to which she planned to conquer valiantly.

"I remember," she assured him, shrugging carelessly. Her arms freely entwined around his neck, urging his head down to hers. "And you were wrong. Let's do it again."

That was the only incentive he needed. Their lips brushed, not entirely kissing yet. Emma's lips parted for him and he was about to delve inside….

All of a sudden, Emma's eyes shot open wide. Her legs squeezed together, blocking him from entering. A forceful hand shoved against his chest, causing him to topple backward on the sheets while she lunged to her feet. At first, he assumed common sense had caught up with her and that this was a cruel rejection. That was until he heard Emma's incessant cries as she raced from the room, doing funny hops around the candles.

"Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee—"

The bathroom door slammed behind her, the impact echoing throughout the otherwise silent house. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized that was the only cause of her sudden departure. She had about three days' worth to release.

Oh, right. He forgot about the repercussions of the 'no-pee' spell. It was a good thing he had learned through trial and error to train his bladder years ago in this matter. Stretching out atop the pillows and sheets, he retrieved his copy of _The Hunger Games_ and settled back to read. Emma was going to be awhile.

_Tsk-tsk-tsk. _"Regina could learn a thing or two from this Clove girl."

….

Emma took over half an hour in the bathroom. She returned to bed with her knees weak and her hand rubbing across her belly in vast relief. After that…they were right back on track. He didn't even care that he lost his place in his book as she practically jumped on top of him and whipped it from his hands.

They made love a second time. And a third.

Instead of waning, their passion only seemed to spike after each round. Sometimes, Gold naturally took control of their love-making, pleasuring Emma until she screamed his name. His true name. The raw wanton sound of it only inspired him to carry on harder than ever before.

But he quickly learned that Emma had a knack for dominating, too.

Occasionally, she would abruptly encourage him to flip on his back and she would willingly take the reins. The wave of mind-numbing ecstasy was so powerful as she explored his body and the ways to make him moan that he was surprised his brain hadn't exploded at the height of their adventures in bed.

Time was lost to them, completely meaningless. All that mattered was the sanctuary they had built within each other's arms.

This time, Emma panted heavily as Gold rested his head in the junction of her shoulder and neck. Beneath the twisted black sheets, his thigh caressed her hip. Shifting her body around, she laid her golden head on his chest, his hand stroking her bare back.

"You really are…amazing," she breathed in awe. The best she ever had, probably. "That's it. You've won the title of Scottish Prince in bed." Her fingertips traced over his abdomen, memorizing every curve and inch of flesh. He lightly squeezed her thigh in his excitement. He shivered with delight.

"Ooh, I like that. Scottish Prince…I suppose it does hold a ring of truth to it, doesn't it?" Emma bet he relished the title. Ate it right up, as was the case with his ego. His lips danced over the crown of her head. "However, if I'm to be your Scottish Prince, then that means you shall be my one and only Swan Princess."

Cupping her chin, he captured her red mouth in a long, hard kiss. Emma gladly returned it, if only to satisfy him before sinking her head onto his chest again. His fingers threaded through the locks of her hair. A tolerable rush of desire pooled in her belly as the scent of his skin tickled her nose—the struck match hovering above the river of gasoline.

She'd never ached so wonderfully in all her life.

"Wonder how many times we can go before our bodies give up?"

Emma inclined her head to peer up at his face. A wicked gleam settled over his dark irises and it was easy for Emma to decode its meaning. Nudging her side with his knee, she rolled over and he carefully climbed on top of her. He started slow, planning kisses on her shoulders and working his way down.

"I say we test that theory," he declared, his mouth traveling below her neck. Much to Emma's chagrin, he lifted his head away to gaze down at her thoughtfully. "Of course, there is still the matter of Henry's involvement in this week's events."

The mention of Henry tethered her to reality.

"There's no question. He's grounded until he's twenty-eight and so help anyone who buys him a magic kit for Christmas again," she proclaimed. The knitting of her brows suggested she was serious. There went his idea of buying Henry that special Criss Angel magic kit he'd been asking for all year.

Emma urged him to continue with what he'd been doing. Even from this angle, Emma didn't miss the way Gold's brown eyes rolled in their sockets.

"Easy for you to say. I owe him a favor."

…..

The clock ticked toward midnight and the town of Storybrooke fell into a peaceful slumber. While other people slept on in their beds, Emma and Gold were wide awake and basking in each other's comfort. In earlier hours, they had resorted to talking, inevitably opening up to each other in ways they never had prior to this night.

Gold told her about his life before the Dark One curse—her response to Milah being _what a bitch—_and she reciprocated by telling him exactly how it was during her childhood and growing up alone. As he recounted the memories of his son and how he lost him, she described her brief happiness with this odd thief named Neal who ended up breaking her heart. He described the sprawling beauty of his beloved Dark Castle, divulged his affinity for leather pants, spoke of some of his stranger deals. She painted him a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World even though she'd never been, her secret wish to learn horseback riding, the origins of the delicate tattoo embroidering her wrist.

They hung on every spoken word whilst valuing those unspoken, both attentive as though each syllable was to be their last.

Now, they retreated into comfortable silence, their throats positively raw from screaming and talking. They found other means of communication. Emma would have to send a thank-you along to Red, at least.

A glass bowl nestled between their bodies, overflowing with multi-colored Sweethearts. The candy hearts had always been Gold's way of indulging in Valentine's Day, even if he didn't publicly celebrate it. Their limbs playfully entangled together under the sheets, their feet exploring their thighs and ankles. Every now and then, one would offer a candy heart to the other, always bearing a special message.

Gold's elegant hand sifted through the bowl of hearts in search of the right one. Emma waited patiently, her body lounging against the steady arm that wrapped around her shoulders. She tried to guess which one he would pick.

_The pink one with XOXO? The yellow one with Be Mine? No, we've passed that line. The purple one with…Marry Me? Okay, maybe that's a little too fast. And I don't think that's exactly what Charming's blessing entailed…_

Finally, his fingers closed around a single heart. He held it up for her to see. It was a white one with two pink words. _My Girl. _She examined the heart and then his face. His eyebrows were raised speculatively and she understood that he was asking her.

In answer, Emma boldly enclosed her lips around the heart and his fingers. He released the candy heart to her demanding tongue, but still it was a minute before his fingers slipped from her mouth. There was a tiny crunch as Emma bit the heart in half. Whereas Gold liked to savor the candy for minutes at a time, the temptation was too great to avoid biting instantly.

It was her turn.

She peeked into the bowl and shuffled the hearts around. He watched her intently, probably playing the same guessing game she had done moments ago. Part of her wanted to hold up the heart that said _Marry Me _just to see how he would react. Would he tumble off the bed in surprise? Have a heart attack? Or rush right out of this house and wake everyone in town to find a suitable ring?

Instead, she snatched up a candy heart and pressed it into his palm before he could read it. He uncurled his fingers. The heart said _Kiss Me. _

Gold popped the Sweetheart into his mouth. A second later, he leaned forward and kissed Emma, both vying for the sweetness of the candy heart between them. Emma grasped it between her teeth and bit down on it, severing it in two. One piece for her and one piece for him.

Once the heart had been devoured, Gold kissed her again. This one was different—softer, not tainted by lustful urgency but flowering with hope and promise. It was the kind of kiss princesses earned from their princes in fairy tales. Emma would never forget it.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Emma," he whispered in the shell of her ear a minute before the clock struck twelve. She snuggled in the warmth of his embrace, a genuine smile widening on her face. Something told her this was only the start of their adventure.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Gold."

…..

_**By the way, I got the inspiration of Gold's title of Scottish Prince from BundyShoes. I couldn't resist throwing it in. **_

_**A fabulous thank-you goes out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, sbcarri, cat4444, dataworf, Newland Archer, discotimelord, Guest, celestria06, Guest, Wandz, The Auburn Girl, la-stella-immortale, SwanQueen4055, eleanorsmom, Onceuponatimesupporter, Guest, PrincessofSea, AngelofDarkness1605, ParanormalMoonlight, Black Heart, and KatieMarrie. Thank you all for the awesome reviews and I hope you all enjoyed reading the story! One more day until Once returns, too. **_


	11. Epilogue

_**A/N: I know I said the last chapter was the last chapter, but I have a surprise for my readers. Many of the reviews requested that I write in the reactions of Snow and Charming to Emma being involved with Gold. So, I have written up a nice little epilogue doing just that. Besides, I actually did want to write for Jefferson's reaction. **_

_**Enjoy! **_

Jefferson didn't know what possessed him to peer into his telescope that night.

It was late, the festival long over. Grace was comfortably asleep in her bed and the rest of the enormous hotel of a house was quiet. Most nights, his mind refused to settle down enough to warrant sleep, in which case he helped himself to a soothing cup of tea, no drugs included. He hated when he mixed up the tea and took the one with the sedatives. He always woke up bleary-minded with carpet burn on his jaw and pins and needles tingling in his legs.

But when it was the right tea, it was absolutely…delicious.

Tonight, he barely swallowed his first sip when instinct warned him to check the telescope. It was a wave of abrupt intuition, similar to the essence of magic upon having the curse broken. It was powerful, alluring, seductive. What was going on in this sleepy little town? Who was awake besides him?

Soon, he had abandoned his teacup and bounded up the stairs, heading for his favorite telescope in the hat room. Currently, it was pointed at Granny's Diner in hopes that he would learn her secret recipes. Her chocolate chip cookies were far better than any store-bought brand out there. The Keebler elves should take notes.

There it was again: a spark of intuition nudging his brain. That was magic, if he ever felt it. Something was happening in Storybrooke. But what?

Bending over his telescope, he put his eye to the eyepiece and caught a glimpse of the dark diner. Nothing interesting there. He was starting to suspect Granny did all her nightly cooking with night vision goggles to prevent anyone from peeking with a telescope or binoculars. He wouldn't put it past her, what with her arsenal of weapons and hand-made devices.

He aimed the telescope in a different direction, searching blindly for the source of magic. Snow and Prince Charming were still awake, though they were hardly doing anything magical. They were cuddling on their couch, watching _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_—and Charming was bawling. It earned a giggle from Jefferson before he moved on. Regina was baking a late-night apple pie in her kitchen. Probably poisoned. He wondered who had dug under her skin lately.

And Rumpelstiltskin…

Oh.

Oh, my. He had a winner.

This was…startling. Unbelievable. Extraordinary. Amusing. It rendered him speechless, his mouth dropping to the carpeted floor. It was a good thing there were no flies in his house. If it was one thing he had perfected while dragging out his days in this mansion, it was cleaning.

Emma was sharing Rumpelstiltskin's bed, as she had done all week due to the limitations of the handcuffs. Except this was different. This time, there were no handcuffs encircling their wrists; the cuffs were strewn carelessly over the bedside table. There were candles everywhere, a glowing sea of flickering flames around the bed. Emma was lying in his arms and she was wide awake. Smiling. Laughing.

His brain fizzled. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the telescope.

This wasn't even a subconscious desire on her part. This was all real. Neither of them were wearing shirts, as far as he could see. He didn't want to know what it looked like under the covers. Just to emphasis that fact, most of that notoriously fashionable suit was carelessly piled in the corner of the room, tie and all. Rumpel played with Emma's hair, swirling it around his fingers while Emma nuzzled her face into his chest.

_Oh…my…gods. _

They did it.

Son of a witch. They actually did it.

Jefferson's jaw ached from hanging open so long. He placed his hand under his chin and directed it back into place. Ah, that was better. In the name of drunken dormice, they did the unthinkable! Who would've thought it? And he thought Snow and Charming's romantic chemistry made waves in this town.

He grinned.

"I knew those two wouldn't be able to hold out past Valentine's Day," he murmured to himself. He continued watching them for a minute, not feeling the least bit embarrassed as Rumpel and Emma stared starry-eyed at each other. Maybe he should send them a glorious gift basket saying _Congratulations! _Or would that be too obvious and creepy?

Now they were huddling closer under the covers. Was it cold in there? Maybe the imp did it on purpose to force Emma to conserve body heat with him. Maybe that was the real reason for this intimate moment—

Now they were kissing. Kissing…on the lips. With tongue.

Now they were touching. The squirming bumps under the covers revealed exactly where Rumpel's hand was sliding. Emma jumped a couple of times as her partner tenderly squeezed certain parts of her body, but she didn't look too concerned. That blush in her cheeks was fiery and attractive.

Now Rumpel's muscles were thriving rapidly under his skin and he was rolling on top of her, the blanket frantically being kicked away—

"_Aah!" _

Jefferson bellowed and whipped his head away from the telescope. The telescope crashed to the ground, but he didn't have the mind to care at the moment. He was too busy rubbing his stinging eyes, trying hopelessly to scrub the image that burned itself into his eyelids. The torture of it! It was maddening!

"Holy mother of Alice! My eyes! Doesn't he know to close the blinds? Bad mental image! Bad mental image!"

Jefferson tumbled into the table and knocked over a half-finished hat. He crouched over the table, heaving for a fresh breath of air. He was pretty sure his mind just reduced itself to Jell-O. That was more of Rumpelstiltskin than he ever wanted to see! How was he supposed to keep a straight face when he crossed paths with the imp now?

This was what he got for spying on people through his telescope. It tended to have its downsides.

"Papa?"

Grace's tiny voice, delicate as fine china, came from the doorway of the hat room. She must have woken to the sound of his frantic yelling. He regretted it immediately. Without taking his palms from his throbbing eyes—with his luck, he was permanently blind and would have to feel his way around this place—he swung toward the sound of Grace's voice.

She should be right about…oof, no…that was a wall. Then her hand caught his shirt, tugging it insistently.

"It's okay, Grace. Go back to bed, please. Papa's just having one of those realistic nightmares," he explained, his voice noticeably shaking. This nightmare was one that wouldn't end. _Someone pinch me and wake me up, _he thought morosely. Oh, gods, the image was coming back! It was worse inside his head!

Removing his hands from his eyes, he fought off the uneasiness from the blinding overhead lights of the hat room. He tucked Grace back into her bed, assuring her that he was fine. Then he dashed downstairs and fled into the living room, where his tea had grown unfavorably cold. What he needed was a telephone.

He thought about calling Rumpelstiltskin and yelling at him through the phone to shut his blinds, but didn't want to face the humiliation that would entail. Knowing the dealmaker as well as he did, he knew there would be gloating on the other end of the line. _Did you like what you saw, dearie? Giggle, giggle, giggle. _

When Jefferson found the phone, he punched in a number that he never thought he'd have to use in this world.

"Hello, is this Archie? My apologies about waking you. Yes, I know it's the middle of the night. I need to make an appointment…"

…

It was the day after Valentine's Day.

Red roses were placed in vases and decorated windows as proud proof of bestowed love from husbands, lovers, and sweethearts alike. Granny always had the biggest bouquet of roses. The town square was stripped of everything red, pink, and white. Gone were the streamers, the booths dismantled, the cotton candy cones picked up from the grass. Bags of Sweethearts went on sale at Mr. Clark's, the majority of which was put aside for Gold.

Other than the remnants of last night's euphoria and affections, there was little sign of any romantic festival having been there.

Emma hardly noticed. She was dead to the world until midday, curled in the town's most comfortable blanket and her head sinking peacefully into the softest pillow she ever rested on. Last night's activities consumed every ounce of her energy.

She woke with a broad smile on her face—she couldn't remember the last time that happened. Stretching catlike across the mattress, with arms shooting for the ceiling and toes curling inward, she moaned as the passionate events of last night resurfaced to the front of her sleepy mind.

How in the world could she ever forget? She bet the scale would claim an extra five pounds or so from those Sweethearts. Not to mention the tender ache in her bones and muscles. It was well worth it.

Her hand extended toward the right, blindly searching for a familiar warm body. But the only thing her palm patted was the cool, indented surface of the mattress. She opened her eyes wide just to confirm that he wasn't there and groaned in disappointment. _You know, sometimes I'd like to snuggle with a man the morning after…_

But then the appetizing waft of bacon and eggs floated up the stairs and betrayed his whereabouts.

Springing up from the bed, she grabbed a shirt off the floor and quickly slipped into it. It was actually Gold's midnight-shaded dress shirt from the previous night, but she didn't think he'd mind. It even still held a hint of his cologne, a fact that warmed Emma's belly pleasurably.

"Lovely taste in fashion, if I do say so myself," the accentuated voice arose from the doorway. Her heart instantly went into overdrive and she spun around. She hadn't even heard him ascend the stairs. Why did he always have to do that? The guy could sneak up on a ninja.

"It was the first thing I grabbed from the floor," she insisted, crossing her arms under her breasts. His gaze followed the movement, sweeping unabashedly over her body and devouring her as his personal morning brain food. She was all the nourishment he desired for the time being.

"M-hm," he murmured, unconvinced. She spotted the tray in his hands and made a small _O _of realization with her lips. He had prepared breakfast in bed. No cardboard-flavored magic this morning. "If I'd have known you were capable of wearing my shirts sexier than I do, I would have dressed you in those during our imprisonment."

Emma didn't doubt it. Nor did she remove his shirt.

Instead, she compliantly returned to the comfort of his bed so that he could present her breakfast as he had intended. All her favorites were there, waiting to travel down to her growling stomach, the tendrils of steam rising from the pancakes and tickling the tip of her nose.

"How romantic of you," she remarked and meant it. She took a bite out of the heart shaped blueberry pancakes and immediately reclined her head against the pillows in bliss. She could definitely live with this. There'd be no returning to fast food and microwave dinners after this.

Tentatively, he perched on the edge of the mattress. She scooted her legs over to offer him more room.

"Yes, well…Let's just say I was hoping that the magic you and I shared last night was not a one-time deal," he said, grazing a hand over her inner thigh. The way he peered at her from under his eyelashes emphasized the fact that he was sincerely hoping, holding his breath for her response.

Fortunately for him, there was already a Sleeping Beauty in existence in the fairy tale world and she had no plans of waking up from the dream that had been cast over her this week.

Emma roughly swallowed the thick piece of egg in her mouth and it burned all the way down. She took a minute to comprehend what he was so bravely proposing. He was talking about commitment. He was talking about a true relationship.

"I already told you that I'm practically bound to you," she reminded him. It didn't matter if her words had been uttered within the throes of passion and the enchanting mist of lovemaking. They were as true this morning as they were hours ago. "You want to try? As a real couple?"

"Most call it _dating_."

Gold folded his hands in his lap and averted his gaze to the floorboards. She noticed the candles had vanished, though a small hint of vanilla cupcake sweetened the air. The grooves and anxious lines creasing his forehead suggested he was deeply considering it, weighing the pros and cons of the required vulnerability. Then the corners of his lips twitched upwards and Emma knew which way he was leaning.

"To tell you the truth, I haven't really tried with anyone in a very, very long time. There are not many people in this world of whom I am willing to open my heart. Most of my affairs have ended in tragedy," he explained carefully while trying to keep his emotions in check. The strings of Emma's heart tugged at the ingrained sound of sadness in his voice. "But now…I think I'd like to try again. If you'll let me."

Gently, he clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckle for good measure. Her instincts declared that the hand-kissing detail was his way of encouraging her to seal the deal. It was so hard to think with his lips roaming her skin. Even so, she wasn't about to gobble the breakfast, thank him for the free food—if it was actually 'free'—and march out with a cloud of dust trailing behind.

"Yes," she accepted, nodding once.

It had been ten years since she last invested in a relationship with a man. Ten long years; eleven months of it were spent in jail while the rest was spent in loneliness with an empty bed, her heart hardened by an impenetrable iron shell. This past week with Gold had shattered that shell and made her understand how much she longed for that connection.

They could do this. They could try to be together, give it a shot. It would be an adventure for both of them.

"Thank gods! I was sure the heart-shaped pancakes were overdoing it. Though, they're not as perfect as Granny's. That woman never gives up her kitchen secrets," Gold exclaimed in relief. Suddenly, he snatched up the folded newspaper sitting behind her plate of food and scanned it. "By the way, you and I have made the headlines."

He flipped the newspaper around so that she could get a good view of it. On the front page was an enormous black and white photo of their kiss at the Valentine's Day festival. The headline made Emma's eyebrows arch upwards in surprise. _Golden Swan Lives! _

"They dubbed us with a shipping name? Golden Swan?" She figured it was a little better than having Sidney trying to mash their names together in the way celebrities always did in the magazines. Gold shrugged, though a fond expression dominated his features.

"Fans. What can you do?"

….

If there was one holiday Regina hated, it was Valentine's Day.

The roses always smelled sickly sweet, the floral fragrance gagging her with every step of the day. The chocolate candies sold at Mr. Clark's convenience store were of the cheap variety, the rich kind that gave her a stomachache too soon. Besides, she lost the taste for Apollo bars after she witnessed Mary Margaret taking a wide interest in the large ones on the shelf. There were too many idiots swapping saliva in the street, there were never any valentines in her mailbox, no Prince Charming sweeping her off her feet.

Of course, that was because her Prince Charming was dead as a doornail.

Such a useless, cringe-worthy holiday. The day after was no different. While the rest of the women in Storybrooke were sharing tales of romance and comparing bouquets, she carried on with her daily morning routine.

Rise, take a moment to glare upon the town below, change into something fashionably fabulous for the day…If only she still had her loyal Mirror hanging on her wall to compliment her look. The Mirror never lied. It always boosted her confidence, which hadn't cloaked her aura since the day the curse broke.

Slip on a pair of heels, apply her makeup with her lipstick color matching her mood. The deeper the shade of red, the worse her mood was for that particular day. She chose a burgundy shade today—not the darkest shade in her arsenal of lipsticks, but dark enough to unsettle all passersby.

Fluff her hair—cutting it short was the best move she ever made in this world—followed swiftly by a spritz of seductive perfume. Just a puff or two on her wrists and behind her ears, though it wasn't like any man would get close enough to appreciate it. Not even Jefferson stared at her chest anymore. That was back before she was even _trying _to show off!

She fetched the newspaper from downstairs with a solemn frown glued on her lips. There was never usually anything of remote interest printed in _The Daily Mirror_ since nothing big happened lately in this town, but she still liked to monitor what was being said. Old habits and all that jazz. Time to check the headlines while pouring herself a freshly-brewed cup of coffee—

Damn.

What in the world…?

Before she knew it, her coffee cup overflowed with a scalding black stream, staining the edge of the newspaper. She tossed the coffeepot down, cracking the bottom, and scowled as the liquid pooled over her fine mahogany table. And yet no curse or shout of disgust tunneled up from her throat. It was as though her voice had been crudely sucked out, her mouth hanging open unpleasantly.

This was…this was atrocious! What was Sidney trying to do, encourage the citizens of this town to upchuck their cornflakes? The picture of Emma Swan and Rumpelstiltskin sharing a passionate kiss was enough to make her rip every strand of hair out of her head. It made her stomach roil worse than the stupid chocolate.

He, of all people, didn't deserve his happy ending. Now he had the indecency to flaunt it all over the headlines! She was surprised he hadn't called her up just to gloat and giggle. The newspaper crumpled under the strain of her grip and she flung it away, into the middle of the coffee puddle.

What was it about those handcuffs that initiated such intimacy between those two? It was revolting.

Out of nowhere, a demanding knock arose from her front door as she sullenly mopped up the spilled coffee. She could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead. Who had the gall to bother her so early in the morning? Another raging mob? The pathetic fairies spreading goodwill? Or was it Rumpelstiltskin coming to mock her about his trysts with Emma Swan?

If it was the latter, that imp would have a poisoned apple shoved down his throat before the word _dearie _rolled off his clever tongue.

Grumbling, Regina slapped the cloth down on the table and strode to the door. She swung it open, wearing her most fearsome black expression. _Don't screw with me. I'll eat you for breakfast, _it read quite clearly.

"What the hell do you—"

She halted midsentence. There was no one on her porch. No sign of a finely tailored suit or elegant cane. No hint of fairy wings, wands, or pesky puffs of fairy dust that always seemed to fly up her nose. No sight of burning torches, sharpened pitchforks, or rude posters with a red X through her face.

Nothing but the empty street and…

Well. What was this all about?

A shiny wrapped present rested on her porch. Gold paper glinted in the sunlight with a silky red ribbon holding it tightly together. From this perspective, it looked innocent enough. But immediately Regina's guard shot upwards and she scanned the empty street. The present obviously didn't knock on her door. It had no hands.

Was it some crude trick? A last feeble attempt to rid her presence from this town? She'd plotted on more than one occasion of setting a tempting box of exploding chocolates on Rumpelstiltskin's doorstep. If she were capable of contemplating such an act, then why not him?

Or did someone really leave her a present? Henry, perhaps? It was too big a chance for her not to take and so she reached down to retrieve the present. At least it was not tied to a string. She wouldn't put it past the loathsome imp to tie fishing line to the present and yank it away every time she dove for it.

It was a small, thin box, no bigger than the envelope taped underneath it. She brought it close to her ear and listened to the silence sifting around her. No suspicious ticking inside. Then she shook it back and forth in hopes of earning a hint of the contents. Something rattled inside, something light and metallic. Jewelry? Did she truly have a secret admirer? Sidney?

She contained her curiosity long enough to slit the envelope open with a dagger-sharp nail. The envelope itself was blank of any foretelling address or name and the solitary note within the envelope held little more than that. Her ebony eyes roved over the single piece of paper, confused lines creasing the edges of her mouth.

_Enjoy. _

One word; that was it. She flipped the page up and down, over and over, but there was nothing else except for that one word. Typed and printed from a computer, with no possible indications of the mysterious stranger's identity. It unsettled her all the more. She rattled the box around once more, becoming more confident that it was jewelry inside.

What kind of woman would she be if she did not accept such a well-deserved, gratifying gift?

Regina carelessly tossed the note over her shoulder and tore relentlessly into the package. Underneath the gold paper was a white velvet box, the kind that often held expensive jewelry. How endearing. A wicked grin broadened over her face. It was about time the people of this town showed her some respect. She flipped the lid of the box and—

"_Ugh!" _

She recoiled from the contents as she would a threat, launching the box as far as she could. Her face contorted with utmost disgust and her body convulsed as though she were about to lose everything in her stomach. She began dry-heaving over her porch. This was a sick, cruel joke at best.

In the box had been only one item—handcuffs. Her mother's enchanted handcuffs. Which meant that Emma and Rumpelstiltskin most likely…they had…did…oh, her brain was in searing agony. There was no way that proud little princess managed to cut off Rumpelstiltskin's hand or her own. There was no way the savior would willingly kill another human being, much like her holier-than-thou mother.

Her stomach coiled at the thought of those two skipping to option three. That they…the two of them…

"That sick little imp! He will rue this day!"

Still shuddering, Regina released an inhuman growl of fury and retreated into the sanctuary of her manor, slamming the door in her wake. It was a good thing she never noticed the bushes under her porch quivering.

"Is she gone?"

"Wait for it," came a low hiss. Ten seconds passed. "She's gone."

"How do you know? You trained her in the art of ninja. For all you know, she's huffing and puffing on her porch, waiting to skewer us with her glare."

"Let's test that theory." With a great yelp, Jefferson tumbled out of the bush, having been brutally kicked out by Rumpelstiltskin. Ten seconds passed before Rumpel stepped casually from behind the bush. "You haven't been transformed into Jefferson-on-a-Stick yet."

"That was your master plan? Sacrifice me to Regina?" Jefferson stumbled to his feet and brushed the dirt from his clothes. While he picked twigs out of his hair, Rumpelstiltskin looked like he could strut down a runway in Paris. What was his secret? It couldn't just be the magic.

"And did you have to take up so much room? For a small guy, you're obnoxious in close quarters," Jefferson openly complained. Rumpelstiltskin smirked. It seemed Jefferson's displeasure only served his entertainment.

"What did I tell you? You see all the good things you catch when you hide in the bushes?" Jefferson watched as the imp glided across the trimmed lawn and pocketed the fallen handcuffs. Jefferson grimaced. He couldn't believe he and Emma still had use for them.

"My telescope's still better than your lousy hide-in-the-bushes technique," Jefferson insisted, fixing his cravat over his scar. He didn't care what Rumpelstiltskin said. Nothing beat his favorite telescope. He stretched his muscles to rid his body of the ache of having Rumpelstiltskin land on him in the bushes.

"And yet you were the one screaming in agony last night. That's exactly what you deserve for spying on me, dearie. I myself was screaming for other reasons." Jefferson gawked and shielded his ears with his hands. _I did not just hear that, I did not just hear that! Did he really say that? With a creepy smile? _

"Too much information!"

Jefferson whipped his head back and forth in a futile attempt to unclog the traumatized, numbing sensation from his brain. It felt like he just got hit in the head with a croquet mallet. Though, he might take the croquet mallet instead. Did the guy have any sort of filter? Or did he always spout what was on his mind? Not very subtle.

"Whoops," Rumpelstiltskin mocked. It wasn't very convincing in the remorseful department. Jefferson had to wonder why he allowed himself to be pulled into Rumpelstiltskin's antics. Probably because he was the closest thing the dealmaker had to a friend.

"You owe me for that trauma. Archie will have enough trouble unraveling the workings of my mind, let alone that terrifying incident," he countered. He debated the best way to have Rumpel pay him back. "You can make it up to me by buying me dessert at Granny's."

He expected the imp to jump at the temptation of delicious vanilla sundaes oozing with chocolate fudge and topped with cherries. Even if Rumpelstiltskin was buying for Jefferson, he wouldn't be able to resist ordering the tallest sundae for himself. Instead, he turned and began to walk down Regina's path toward the street without any interest in Jefferson.

"Afraid not. I happen to have a hot date with Emma tonight. It wouldn't bode well for our newfound relationship if I failed to make the proper arrangements." Jefferson figured Rumpelstiltskin had a checklist for such occasions. Pick out his best suit, freshen up with breath spray, blow-dry his hair for twice the time it usually takes him. "Oh, and I'll need to borrow your rainbow horse again."

"Haven't you burdened Skittles enough for one week?" Jefferson rolled his eyes. He could swear Rumpelstiltskin was swinging his hips the entire way.

….

"Golden Swan Lives," Grumpy recited from the headlines of the _Daily Mirror. _Archie and Red peered over his shoulder and drank in the sight of the black and white photo of Emma and Gold kissing. While Red grinned wolfishly, Archie gaped in disbelief. "Who came up with the name Golden Swan? Reminds me of the duck from _Jack and the Beanstalk_. And we all know Rumpelstiltskin isn't exactly a giant." Grumpy guffawed.

"It was a goose, not a duck," Red corrected hotly. The guy derived from the Enchanted Forest and he didn't even know his fairy tales. "I didn't come up with Golden Swan. There's no Sweetheart for that." Grumpy looked to Archie accusingly, but it was clear from the open-mouthed expression that the cricket was clueless.

"I knew they were handcuffed together, but I never knew they shared such passion for each other. Why do I always miss the good stuff in this town?" Archie pouted down at his pancakes. "I must say, Mr. Glass hasn't shown much creativity before. So, then who…?"

"I did," Granny announced, swinging a spatula in Grumpy's direction. The newspaper was his only protection from Granny's wrath. "I even gave Glass an exclusive about how the Sheriff shared her pickles with him last night. Why? You have a problem with the name Golden Swan?"

The spatula poked the newspaper, threatening to tear right through it. Grumpy craned his head away to avoid being poked.

"No, Granny. I love it. Long live Golden Swan," he scurried to escape Granny's radar. She narrowed her eyes dangerously, but lowered the spatula. For now. Grumpy's reprieve was short-lived as Red frantically slapped his shoulder. He hissed. It wasn't fun being slapped by a werewolf so close to that time of the month.

"You owe me twenty bucks," she declared, a victorious crimson grin glowing on her face. Leroy scowled, but she ignored it. "My love radar never fails! Once you share pickles with someone, there's no going back. I knew I felt something last night; some intense lovin' being made. Happened all the time when Snow and Charming kissed. And the wedding night!" Red shivered, though there wasn't a chill in the air.

Archie made a soft _aww_ as he studied the photo again. His wise eyes were bright behind his glasses. Grumpy was half-bent, sticking his finger down his throat in a gagging gesture. Red smacked him on the back of the head. That practically cost him a skull fracture.

"I think it's romantic. It's a big step from both of them on a personal level. Two people socially disconnected, being able to tear down their walls and open up to each other. Perhaps this is the start of a beautiful, trusting relationship," Archie gushed.

From the stars in his eyes, the cricket was already planning on attending their future wedding. Grumpy shook his head miserably and downed half his ale. He needed it after that creepy mental image.

"Yeah, sure, doc. And I'll see the error of my ways in making bets with people, grow a few feet taller, and spout magical wings so I can fly my way out of this town. The birds haven't been struck by lightning yet," he sarcastically grumbled. Granny grinned slyly, as if she would be entertained by a flying Grumpy.

"The birds aren't cursed, Grumpy," Red argued. He swiveled his chair around to challenge her head-on. She held a hand above his head to mock his height. It was sad when even Rumpelstiltskin was taller than you.

"Got any proof, sister? I swear I saw a dove the other day that looked familiar. Where did all the woodland creatures go, then? You think they're infesting our beds? Staking claim to our food supply and our cottages?"

He folded up the newspaper and flipped it so he wouldn't have to see the front page. The animals back home weren't the only ones doing some infesting. Nine months and there would probably be countless mini-Golds wreaking havoc in Storybrooke. One Gold was enough for a lifetime.

"What does she even see in that guy?" Grumpy shuddered at the invasive mental image of Gold having intimate relations with anyone. Red shrugged.

"He does have incredible taste in fashion. Best dressed in Storybrooke, if you ask me. What girl doesn't like a guy in a suit from time to time? With Gold, it's _all_ the time," she sighed, rubbing her fingertips over the smooth surface of the bar as she would with one of his silk ties.

"Must be the accent," Granny joined in with her two cents. She pretended to be interested in polishing the silverware, but that rag was rubbing the forks and spoons a little _too _feverishly. "Makes perfect sense. An accent like melted butter…it's a man's ticket to snagging a woman's attention."

Red cocked an eyebrow at Granny in suspicion, but the old woman put all efforts into the silverware. They were going to have a _long _talk at home.

"He smells nice," Archie added. Their heads simultaneously shifted toward the therapist, who was inhaling deeply through the nose. Archie's eyelids parted and he stiffened under the weight of the odd gazes. "What? You haven't noticed?"

Grumpy decided to leave Archie to his own little world that seemingly revolved around Gold's cologne. Just what he needed: another mental image, consisting of Archie following Gold all day and sniffing his suit. Was he the only clear-headed person in this town now? How ironic.

"All I want to know is how he gets his hair to be so perfect in the morning. Never a strand out of place, gray or otherwise," Grumpy admitted. He patted his own bald head, wishing for once he had a head of hair like Gold's. If he was in the betting mood, he'd bet that guy used a state-of-the-art blow-dryer.

"Mark my words: that limp is a fake. It's all for sympathy, I tell you. That man is the most graceful cripple I've ever laid eyes on. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew how to move on the dance floor," Granny chimed in. She moved on to the knives. Red hoped she wouldn't spear herself in the midst of her fantasies.

"And he _is_ rich. Not that Emma is a gold-digger…so to speak…but think of all the things he could buy! Think of all the birthday, anniversary, and 'I-know-I-screwed-up' presents! Expensive jewelry, roses, chocolates, a Jacuzzi built for two…" Red's expression grew dreamy, her body rocking on her heels.

"And he's a skillful cook," Archie exclaimed. It earned him another round of curious glances. He coughed uneasily. "Or so I've heard. Rumors." His face turned red. Grumpy suddenly froze as a strange thought occurred to him while on the verge of complimenting Gold.

"In other words…we all have our reasons for potentially dating Gold?"

The four of them exchanged alarmed looks. Thankfully, there weren't that many people in the diner to overhear their conversation or else this would be tomorrow's headlines. _Gold: Most Wanted Man In Storybrooke! _

Grumpy seriously began to question why he insisted on frequenting Granny's Diner. It only led to trouble. He pointed a beefy finger at each of his companions.

"Listen up. What happens in this diner stays in this diner," he growled under his breath. With their luck, this would get out, anyway. Regina Mills had eyes and ears everywhere. As a matter of fact, so did Gold. Four heads nodded in unison.

"Agreed."

….

"Seven times?" Emma…I…I don't even think your father and I even made it that far on our wedding night," Snow exclaimed in awe. She raked her hand through her jet black hair, absorbing the news of her daughter's sex life. A second later she held the phone away from her ear as her daughter unleashed a howl of disgust. "I'm sorry! Too much information!"

Footsteps echoed on the floorboards and she quickly said her goodbyes to Emma. They'd be meeting for lunch tomorrow and the two of them could discuss this whole matter in true mother/daughter form. It would be difficult explaining this to Charming. She knew he meant everything he said at the festival, but it was one thing giving the blessing and another entirely to deal with the results of that blessing.

"Snow, when we agreed on making up for lost time, I don't think it implied giving Emma traumatic childhood memories for all the 28 years we missed out. She's already sworn off tacos," her prince teased as he emerged from their bedroom. In his hand was a sword—not a real one, but a carved one he was crafting for Henry. She'd be picking splinters out of his fingers tonight.

Now, how to break the news to him?

"I was thinking. We should invite Rumpelstiltskin over for dinner more often. Since you approve of how happy he seems to make Emma," she suggested humbly. Charming took a soda from the fridge—the best creation since leather vests, he claimed—and popped the lid with a low hiss.

"As long as he doesn't hog the crème pie…why not? It's better to have him on our side. You've seen how big his tantrums are. I suppose he's not…so bad. And who knows? Maybe our charity and goodness will start to rub off on him." He took a great gulp of soda while Snow digested his enthusiasm. Somehow, she severely doubted that Rumpel was going to be enlisting his servitude to the nuns' charity events anytime soon, but he wasn't as dark as the man he'd been in the Enchanted Forest. "Guess this means we'll have another tug of war with the bread while he emphasizes the fact that he's handcuffed to our daughter."

If that wasn't an opportune moment for dramatic news, she didn't know what was. Snow bit her lip, considering how to best form the admission.

"Well, darling….I think he'll be flaunting for other reasons," she hinted quietly. Charming heard every word. The soda can slowly lowered from his mouth, the metal crunching under his fingers. He offered her a quizzical look.

"Did he win Best Dressed again? That's hardly a surprise, Snow," he replied rather calmly, though there was still a hint of jealousy in his cerulean eyes.

One of Charming's first goals after the curse being broken was to beat Rumpelstiltskin in pursuit of the Best Dressed Man in Storybrooke award. Of course, that required a few hundred dollars—and maybe Rumpelstiltskin's mysterious disappearance.

"No, not exactly. Not yet, anyhow," she admitted. She might have given her vote to Rumpel once or twice for Best Dressed. "Emma and Rumpelstiltskin…aren't really…handcuffed anymore."

All that was left now was to wait for the news to sink in. In a way, it was inevitable what with how close Emma had been leaning toward Gold this week. Even a blind person would have seen it. But Charming could be thick-headed sometimes.

At this moment, he stared at her incredulously, dropped his gaze to his soda can, gave a passing glance to everything as if something would help him make sense of the jumbled mess in his head.

To her surprise, her husband chuckled. Oh, gods, he thought it was a quip.

"What, did he accidentally cut his hand off while chopping vegetables? Or did Emma do it?" Snow shook her head solemnly. He was obviously in denial.

"No, Charming. Rumpelstiltskin still has full use of his limbs and organs," she assured him. _Some more than others, _she added inside her head. If Charming was referring to the three options that would have released their daughter from the handcuffs, it meant he would hit the nail on the head eventually.

Charming's face grew slack with dismay.

"You mean…he's…dead? Or are you telling me that it's...oh, gods, Snow…it's Emma?" Water welled up in his crystal blue eyes. Any moment now, he was going to need the Kleenex. She sighed.

"No one is dead." She knocked on wood, just in case. Their family never had the best odds against tragedy.

That was strike two; there was only one possible option left for Charming to latch onto. She witnessed his face transform with confusion, then alarm, then horror. She never knew her husband was capable of mimicking _The_ _Scream_ so well.

"You mean…they…those two…together…horizontally…vertically…did…_it? _As in…_it-_it?" Snow didn't need to answer that question in order for Charming to understand the truth. A terrible shudder traversed through his body. "I think this will sum up my reaction in a nutshell."

Charming held up a finger, asking for a kind moment. Then he tossed back his head and took a giant sip of soda. Just as quickly, he spewed it out across the floor. It was a good thing Snow had expected it, or else she would be drenched. Charming's eyes boggled out of his head.

"_What?!_ Our _baby_ is doing the horizontal _tango_?" Snow laid a paper napkin over the spewed soda, nudging it along with the toe of her flats.

"Truthfully, she already has. Otherwise, Henry wouldn't be here," she pointed out. Charming offered her a look that suggested that stating the facts wasn't helping any. The rest of his body had gone numb: his jaw tightened, his muscles rigid as piano cords, no sound slipping from his mouth. The Tin Man had better color than her husband did right now. "I know it's hard to wrap your mind around, but maybe this isn't as bad as you think. Emma's obviously happy with it."

Charming was statuesque, frozen in shock. She waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn't even blink. _Don't tell me he's slipping back into his coma, _she silently pleaded. She could read the alarm in the depths of his eyes: _failure to compute. _She started considering kissing him to wake him up.

"Snow…is this how Emma felt when she walked in on us in bed? Like the carpet had been pulled out from beneath her feet? That she face-planted in the middle of town square?" Charming slowly blinked and returned to life. Snow recognized the same shell-shocked expression that had been on Emma's face when she walked in on them. This probably wasn't a good time to point out the similarity between father and daughter. "I will resolve never to give her traumatic memories again."

Snow whistled out a low breath.

"Does this mean you'll refrain from scavenging for your sword and knocking on Rumpelstiltskin's door?" It wouldn't likely work out for Charming, anyway. A sword never did prove to be much of a threat for the Dark One. She hoped he at least had a Plan B after killing him.

"I'm considering it," Charming replied, though she could see there was no real steam behind that threat. He had already promised Emma that he would support her happiness and Prince Charming was not one to go back on his word. It would just take some getting used to. "Just don't expect me to attend Father-Son Day and participate in three-legged races with him."

…..

_And they're going to be a couple? As in dating, kissing, holding hands, sharing popcorn at the movies, and other unmentionable activities that the eleven year old upstairs doesn't need to know about yet? _

_Yes, Charming. That's what _couple _means in this world. I think it's sweet. Emma's finally getting a chance to have her happy ending. Don't you think she's deserves it after everything she's done for us? _

_ Of course I do. I gave him my blessing, didn't I? I just didn't expect them to jump into bed this fast! Snow, you realize that if Emma marries him….I'm going to have a son-in-law who is virtually three centuries older than me? And what about the possibility of grandchildren? Imagine Thanksgiving! _

Henry strained his ears to catch the low exchanges between his grandparents. He reclined in a big green beanbag in the loft of their apartment, where he was supposed to be doing his homework. The pencil tapped the unmarked math page, a satisfied grin crossing his face. How could he concentrate on fractions when there was exciting news like that?

Emma and Mr. Gold were going to be together. It was obvious that they had feelings for each other, even to an eleven year old like him. Of course, it was still kind of gross to picture Mr. Gold kissing his mom on the lips, but another part of him was happy for her. He'd have to dig out his walkie-talkie and ask for all the details of any upcoming dates. Maybe he could even help Mr. Gold impress Emma.

This might be a chance for Emma to find her happy ending once and for all. It was about time. Why should the savior be denied her happy ending when she fought so hard to bring back all the rest? How many people in this town could say they slayed a dragon? Just her and Prince Charming, if his book was correct. Like father, like daughter.

Speaking of happy endings…

Henry set aside his homework for the time being. He opened the cover of his notebook and retrieved a ripped-out piece of notebook paper. It was a list of all the people in Storybrooke and the progress of their happy endings. That Criss Angel magic kit would definitely come in handy, thanks to a simple favor. His pencil scrolled down the list until he found the right line.

"Emma and Rumpelstiltskin…check," he mumbled as he drew a graphite line through their names. Then he tapped the eraser against his chin and examined the list again. Granny and Marco…Red and Archie…Pongo and Perdita…"Now, who's next?"

….

_**Never underestimate the power of Operation: Cobra. What did everyone think of the latest episode of Once? Yay? Nay? **_

_**I want to thank all those that have reviewed and read this story. I think this one has been my favorite to write for Golden Swan, next to my Sunshine story. So, here's a big shout-out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, discotimelord, dominiquecatharina, ClaudiaRain, isara-love, FlorencezMachine, BellatrixLives, Lady-Shiroi, BundyShoes, ParanormalMoonlight, NewlandArcher, sbcarri, Nightshade's sydneylover150, Moonlight-Wanderer88, OuroborosMM, liliesandroses, Revenessa, la-stella-immortale, AngelofDarkness1605, and SwanQueen4055. **_


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